Penance
by paisleygirl
Summary: Christine has just returned from the lair after removing his mask.Now she is anxious to set things right again.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

AFTER CHRISTINE RETURNS FROM THE LAIR

The guilt was overwhelming. Sobs were threatening to overcome me and I threw myself onto the bed to let them. Hot tears flowed and I did nothing to try and stop them. I did not deserve any relief from my grief. I am a hateful person…a person who should be condemned to this miserable, wracking despair. The harder I cried, the more ashamed I felt. I was vaguely aware that I still needed to process everything, to think through all that happened, the good and the bad, but that would come later. Right now I just needed to surrender to this anguish.

It seemed like hours later when I heard a knock on my dressing room door. I didn't bother to wipe away the tears; half of the dormitories had probably heard my sobbing anyways. "Come in," I croaked, my throat sore and strained. I glance up to see Meg opening the door cautiously.

"Oh, Christine," she said, rushing over to me. "What's the matter? I heard you and knew you were back, I was so worried…" she let the sentence trail off. I knew I looked as bad as I felt and that she must be shocked to see me like this. Even though we had been the best of friends for more than seven years she had not seen me cry in a very long time, not since that first year or two after my father died and I came to live here.

"Meg" I whispered, my voice incapable of anything louder. I could tell her anything, she wouldn't judge me…though today I deserved to be judged harshly. "I have done a horrible thing…a selfish ting…" Fresh tears and a shuddering sob accompanied my confession. "You know of my angel of music, my teacher and friend. And I have told you how often I wished that he was real. For years I have dreamed of it, but as I grew I did not really believe it was possible." I paused, at last wiping away some of the tears. "Last night my wish came true…and I," I couldn't continue, my eyes burned with yet another wave of tears, how were there any left?

"Shhh, Christine." She soothed, trying to comfort me but willing me to continue. Her gaze was soft but urging; as if she knew I needed to speak the evil truth out loud before I could begin to feel better.

I took a steadying breath and tried again. "He came to me after the performance," I glanced at the mirror on the far wall of the room. "He sang to me and I went to him…went with him. It was like a dream Meg, only better." The tears fell onto my hands as I sat up, but the sobbing eased. I decided then to leave out the part about the mirror and the underground lair surrounded by the lake. I could not betray his trust even further by revealing the location of his home, not even to her. The concern in her expression bid me to go on. "He is the phantom Meg, the opera ghost." She gasped, not unexpectedly, and I placed my hand on hers to help with the shock. I knew this could not be easy for her to hear. The phantom was feared by all. I saw her expression change from concerned to fearful, but I wanted her to understand, so I continued. "I know this is surprising, but honestly, it was frightening, it was…magical." I thought about his feather light touch as he took my hand, the horse he had provided to lesson the strain of the descent, the beautiful song he sang to me. She did not look convinced, however, so I went on, needing her to understand.

"He was so kind to me, so gentle and attentive…and his voice." I closed my eyes to recall and savor the sound of his voice. I had never heard anything like it, though he had been singing to me for years. "I know this sounds strange, but his voice was different from all of the other times I have heard it. Almost as if now I know he is a man I heard something else, something besides just the words." I was speaking more to myself than Meg now. I hadn't realized it until just now, but there was emotion in his song, a rich and seductive tone. I felt a slight blush at the thought; he had never sung practice scales or lullabies like that.

"Christine," Meg whispered, bringing me out of my reverie and erasing all traces of the blush. "What happened to make you so sad then? Is it because you are disappointed he is not someone else, anyone else?" She could not know how those questions would bring on waves of fresh grief.

"No Meg," I sobbed, covering my face with my hands as my body shook. She wrapped her arms around me to comfort me, and I let her, knowing full well I deserved no such comfort. "I removed his mask," I blurted out. Saying it made me feel even worse, something I did not think possible.

I felt her body tense and her arms tighten around me. Her gasp was barely audible. I had only heard it because she was holding me so close. I took a deep breath and removed my hands from my face. "I was curious…I wanted to see…" I was ashamed at how childish that sounded. "I had no right…why would someone wear a mask if it wasn't hiding anything? I knew something unpleasant was under it, but I didn't ask, I just pulled it away, not thinking of his feelings, only my own." Why didn't I ask why he wore a mask? Surely he would at least have told me. He might not have wanted me to see, but my need to know would have been satisfied…probably.

"Was it horrible?" She had enough grace to look ashamed, knowing that in a small way she was doing the same thing, putting her curiosity first.

"What I saw wasn't nearly as horrible as what I did Meg. He was so startled, caught off guard by my selfishness no doubt." That had changed quickly though. The memory of him pushing me to the floor came crashing back. He had been so angry…so betrayed. I had deserved worse, even if he had slapped me it would not have been as bad as seeing his despair. He had been so wounded…and I had said nothing! No words of comfort or apology; I should have begged forgiveness. Instead I had let him bring me back. We had both been silent on the return, lost in our own thoughts. How different it had been from our descent, when we sang to each other, feeling the promise of a splendid new beginning. I had ruined that.

"Then what happened?" She asked wide eyed, the shame she had felt a moment ago replaced once again by interest. I had almost forgotten she was there until she spoke. She let her arms fall from my shoulders, perhaps sensing that I was not worthy of comfort. No, Meg wouldn't think of me that way, no matter how much I deserved it

"He was very angry with me…he…he doesn't want to see me again, and who could blame him?" I could see the question in her eyes, and I didn't make her ask it. "No, he didn't hurt me. I don't think he would ever hurt me Meg." Actually I was sure of it. "He was so much colder than he's ever been. "What have I done?" I sobbed.

Since he entered my life all those years ago, I had dealt with sadness through song, he had taught me that, and suddenly I wanted to honor him in that way now, so I sang. "His_ voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind. And through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before, yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…" _I didn't feel any better and fresh tears came to prove it.

"Tell me about before the mask…what was he like?" She was smiling as she spoke…back to our everyday post rehearsal gossip mode. She was trying to cheer me up now. I wasn't sure if I was ready to be done with my grief, but the image of him brought a smile to my face as well.

"He is very handsome, despite the mask, and he is the most graceful person I have ever seen, more so than any ballerina. The way he moves is incredible Meg…nobody moves like that…and his voice…"I closed my eyes to savor the memory once again. "When he sings to me like that it's as if I'm in a trance, I can think of nothing but him and the sound of his words pulling me to him." Yet another wave of sorrow overtook me at the realization that this would never happen again.

"He'll come back Christine, he'll forgive you." I loved her for saying it, though I didn't believe it. "Do you want to know what happened here after you disappeared?" I knew she was trying to change the subject for my sake and decided that was okay, she didn't deserve to be swallowed by my grief.

"What happened?" I asked only to placate her; I didn't care at all. I wanted to wallow in sadness; my penance had only just begun.

CHAPTER TWO

ERIK

She had cried silently all the way back. Inside I was crying too, but I could not let her see; she had seen enough of my weakness. I had frightened her so much…and not just my hideous face, but my unholy rage. I had seen the fear, the disgust upon her lovely face and it had proved more than I could bear. How could I have thrown her from me so mercilessly? What if she had been hurt? She is such a beautiful, delicate thing and I assaulted her and cursed at her, she would never forgive me. I know that I don't deserve for her to forgive me.

Once she was safely in her dressing room I slid the mirror back and locked it from my side. I watched as she threw herself on the bed and cried, overcome with horror by my repulsive face and my ugly temper. I could not look away from her. I backed against the tunnel wall and watched as my love, my Christine was wracked by shuddering sobs. After a while I slid down the wall and sat on the stone floor, hanging my head and letting the tears come. I wanted so badly to comfort her, but my words, my touch were the last things in this world that would bring comfort to her. All I could do was watch and listen, though it was tearing me apart to hear her so miserable. My heart and spirit were broken; I was her angel no more. This punishment was not undeserved.

At long last there was a knock at the door. I looked up to see Meg Giry enter. I sighed in relief, knowing Meg would give her the comfort she deserved, the reassurance that I could not give her. Should I stay to hear her speak the awful truth? I did not want to see the fear or loathing on her face again, but still I could not leave. "Oh, Christine," I sobbed.

Did I just hear her say she had done a horrible and selfish thing? Could I have heard that correctly? I stood up, as if the motion might correct my hearing. Then she glanced at the mirror…at me…my heart stopped beating for a moment. Her lovely chocolate eyes were swollen and red, but then she looked away, back at Meg. Surely she could not know that I was still here. I started pacing, trying to make myself leave before I heard the dreaded retelling, the horrific description of my face…of me.

Wait a minute! Did she just say "it wasn't frightening…it was magical?" I must be losing my mind, this was not possible. I stopped pacing and moved very close to the mirror. Maybe if I was still I could hear properly and not be distracted by the sound of my cloak or my boots. I placed my palms on the glass and waited, still as a statue, for her to speak again. She mentioned my voice…she's blushing! Her cheeks are the loveliest shade of pale pink; it is very becoming on her. But what could she be thinking of to elicit this? I continued to listen in stunned disbelief as my angel went on to accept all blame for what had happened. Fifty men could not drag me away from this mirror right now. She was not crying from disgust but from guilt. I had to get to her, to let her know that there was nothing to forgive, that I loved her beyond all else…but I couldn't risk the Giry girl knowing about the mirror, that was our secret, mine and Christine's.

I was in the fires of hell listening to her say that I never wanted to see her again, for I wanted nothing more than her by my side. How could she think that? The memory of my fury came back to me like a slap in the face. She had looked so frightened, so much like the little girl I had seen crying in the chapel all those years ago_. _That would be the reasonI thought bitterly.

But I was in heaven a moment later hearing her say I was handsome and graceful. Handsome? How could she say that? She had seen my deformity, my scarred and disgusting face. This has to be a dream, my most precious dream, that she could see the man behind the monster. "Leave Meg…please go so I can enter and be with her." I thought forcefully, willing for it to happen. I don't understand and I need to know. But she didn't leave and it was torture holding back the song in my heart, the song Christine said pulled her to me. Oh, I definitely did not deserve such a creature. She was so sweet natured, so genteel and magnificent…I had thought I could not possibly love her any more than I already did; I was so wrong. "Go you dreadful girl before I break this cursed mirror and terrify you both." Again the force of my thoughts was denied. Oh my god…oh my god…my heart would surely burst with the potent mix of anguish and joy. I placed my forehead against the glass, the half not covered by the mask; it felt so cool, so good.

Now Meg was telling her about the Viscount. Curse that meddling fool! How worried and gallant he had been_. _How could he have been gallant?I settled back against the wall and listened some more. An unexplained dread came over me as I watched and listened. Meg was animated in her monologue and though Christine's back was to me I thought she was listening raptly. Was she considering a future with the boy? I remember overhearing her say they were childhood sweethearts. In pressed my lips into a hard line thinking of my Christine with that arrogant fool. She belonged with me! But what would her future be with me? Darkness and solitude, I thought with disgust.

I already knew before today that I did not deserve this exquisite girl, but the Viscount de Changy did not deserve her either. He could certainly give her a better home than I could, A better, happier life; one with daylight and luxury and beautiful, unscarred children. Was I so selfish that I would deny her that? Hadn't she just astounded me with her unselfish nature? It was true that neither one of us deserved her, but though I loved her more than he ever could I had to admit that she deserved the life he could give her. I would not deny her a chance at happiness, though it might just about kill me to let her go. Oh, where was the unparalleled joy of a few moments ago? I was sure it was a heavenly mistake that I had felt it at all, but I would cherish it always. Thoughts of Christine's beautiful face, the unexplained blush, the smile as she talked about me before her thoughts were stained by the horror of my face. I would treasure these memories, and I would let her go. I would stay away as long as I could, though I doubted that would be long at all. But I wouldn't let her know when I was watching…she needed to be happy. She will never again be subject to the grief she feels today because of me.

I realized my fists were clenched. It was actually painful to open and spread my fingers. Of all the misery in my life, and there had been much, this was surely the worst. I knew I was doing the right thing, but that did not make it any easier. I walked back to the mirror and lightly kissed the smooth surface. "Goodbye Christine," I whispered, tears flowing heavily, and I left.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MONTHS BETWEEN

Meg had not been right when she assured me that he would come back, would forgive me. It was I who had been correct in saying he never wanted to see me again. The days after that passed slowly, I was so jittery, starting at the smallest sound and hoping it would be him. But he never came, and I knew deep down that he wouldn't. It took the better part of two months for the hope to die, for me to stop looking in the shadows and responding to every whisper. Thought I stopped searching for him, I still gazed into my mirror each night and whispered "I'm sorry." Even after I stopped hoping he would hear, I continued the routine because I still needed to say it.

Now the days blended together…rehearsals, meals and evenings with Meg. Sometimes we laughed like we used to, I know she wanted it to be that way again, but I never stopped thinking about my angel, and it made me so sad. Before I had been a happy girl who occasionally felt saddened by something but now I was the opposite, a sad girl who only sometimes felt happiness.

"Christine," Meg shouted, hurrying up to me in that bouncy way ballerinas run. "There is to be a masquerade ball for New Years Eve!" She squealed. "Isn't it the most exciting thing?"

It was exciting, only because it was something different to break the routine of everyday life. Again I thought of _him_. The irony of it did not escape me either…it was the one place my angel and I could have gone in public. He would not have been the only one in a mask then. I still always thought of him as my angel of music, and not the phantom of the opera, though he was neither these days. The managers hadn't seen or heard from him since I had returned. They thought he had left the opera house, but I knew better. I somehow sensed he was still here, biding his time, but for what I did not know.

"I know the Viscount will ask you…he asks about you every time he is here." I knew she was right, about both things, but I couldn't imagine an entire evening with Raoul. He was a friend, a childhood friend, who I had even fanaticized about marrying when I was very young. But that was a childhood dream, gone these many years. "Will you accept if he asks?" She smirked, always trying to cheer me up.

"No," I smirked back, just as playfully. I could not feel anything romantic for Raoul, he couldn't compare to my angel in any way. Just because my angel no longer wanted me did not mean I didn't want him. I had had a glimpse of something so much more and I couldn't be with someone less… mesmerizing. "I will go alone, Meg. What about you? What unsuspecting fellow will be falling for your charms?" She giggled as I winked.

Rehearsals finished early today…Carlotta again! What a nuisance. I had finally gotten my piece right, and it sounded good, then the horrible squawking demands of the diva. Singing was much more difficult without my lessons, without my teacher. I still practiced every day, but it wasn't the same anymore. There was nothing new to learn, just the same old exercises and scales. But I had kept it up, and not just for him, because I truly enjoyed singing. He had given me that, and I refused to let it go. I clung to my memories from years of lessons with him. I loved to listen to him sing even then, but now it stirred something deep inside when I thought of his song to me that last time… I could feel the familiar burning sting behind my eyes at the thought.

I decided on an early dinner then bed, unless Meg wanted to talk more about the masquerade. It was just over a month away, though, so she had plenty of time for the excitement t o build. I smiled at the thought of her finding a date, and trying to talk me into one as well.

Right, dinne_r_…but I was momentarily lost. I saw the winding iron staircase ahead and now knew where I was, but not how I had gotten here. For some reason I had been going up to the roof. Oh well, I continued upward, the statues on this part of the roof were really something and I hadn't seen them in so long. It shouldn't be too cold outside, not yet anyways, it was still early. By the time I reached the door the cold air was a relief, the ascent had taken a toll and I was slightly warm. It was already dark and a light snow was falling. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the night. And as I did, I remembered again the song he had sung to me…I had memorized every second of that encounter, unwilling to forget even the smallest detail, up until my betrayal anyways. Though I tried to never think about that part those seconds were branded into my memory as well. I moved toward one of the larger statues, closed my eyes again and began to sing softly…_nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…_I could almost hear the way his voice had sounded that night, velvety and smooth_ darkness stirs and wakes imagination_… a sensuous whisper.

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses…_I could almost feel him here with me.

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls it splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender…_it was wonderful to be out here, singing his song and I could sense something…

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light. _It had been a plea that night, I knew that now. I had been so overcome with awe, so filled with wonder that my angle was a man and I didn't grasp that it was more than just a song. When I look back on it, the hundreds of times I revisited that night in my mind, I could feel the meaning behind his words. _And listen to the music of the night_, his music…our music.

My eyes were closed and I wanted to surrender to my darkest dreams…the vision of him in that dark suit, so graceful, moving with such ease and suppleness, his eyes shining with promise and warmth, and the sultry seductiveness of his voice…he was so beautiful then. _Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before_, _close your eyes let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you've never lived before._ That had been an invitation, I was sure of that too.

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. _As I sang I remembered how his whispered words had felt like a caress._ Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness that you know you cannot fight, the darkness of the music of the night. _I had been unable to resist him then, as I would be now.

_Let your mind start to journey to a strange new world, leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_ Singing these words I realized that my life before that night had been wonderful, I had him as a teacher, a friend, a guardian. Now I didn't have him at all and I ached for those days back.

_Let your soul take you where you want to be, only then can you belong to me._ Oh how I wanted that.

I shivered as I recalled his touch, the feel of his hands on my body. _Floating, falling, sweet intoxication…touch me, trust me, savor each sensation._ The feel of his skin had been so wonderful, cool and firm, and his breath on my neck…

_Let the dream begin; let your darker side give in, to the power of the music that I write, the power of the music of the night._ I was crying now, the words were so powerful and I would give anything to not have fainted that night; to not have woken up as if from a dream; my only thought knowing the face in the mask.

I couldn't help but recall the look in his eyes later…the pain and anger, but he had been beautiful in his anger too, the grace never leaving him as he shouted and lashed out. I had shrunk beneath his searing gaze. It was only after that, when he was overcome with sadness and self loathing that the grace left him for a brief moment. And I had done that to him. I alone took responsibility for his misery. Why hadn't I tried to make it right? I had been frightened, but what kind of excuse was that?

My eyes flew open at the sound of the door behind me. My chest was heaving, but not with effort of singing. It occurred to me that he had felt that night the way that I feel now. I remembered the feel of his heaving chest against my back. I did not want to be interrupted right now, I wanted to further explore this new revelation, but I turned anxiously, and was disappointed to see that Raoul had followed me to the roof. I don't know who else I had been expecting to see, but I know who I had hoped to see.

"What a beautiful song, Christine…"

(Erik's POV)

I could hardly believe I heard shuffling on the other side of the door. No one ever came up here, no one but me anyway. But sure enough the door opened and I crouched down behind the large statue I had been leaning on. It was snowing, so hopefully whoever was here would not stay long. No such luck, someone was coming this way. I decided to risk a peek, slowly and silently moving around the rear of the statue.

Oh my God, the sound of my heartbeat would surely give me away. It's her! It's Christine, and she is perfection itself. Her eyes are closed, and her face tilts upwards, catching those lucky few snowflakes. Thank the heavens her eyes are closed because I can not look away. I am completely enraptured, no thoughts but of her.

I have not been this close to her since I left her at the mirror two months ago. Of course I had been watching her, but from a much safer distance. No, it can't be, she's singing…what had I done to deserve this happiness? She has been practicing; her voice is as lovely as ever. And she's singing the song I wrote for her... my heart cannot take this much joy. These past two months had been torture without her. I had seen her, but had never had the pleasure of looking into her eyes, of speaking with her, about music and history and the many other things we used to talk about. I missed that so much. The emptiness was making me irritable; well, more irritable than usual.

It had been unbearable to watch the production of Il Muto with Carlotta playing the lead. Christine had so much more talent but was given a silent part. I had to hold myself back from sending one of my notes instructing that Christine play the roll of countess. The new managers disobeyed every command I had given them. I was itching to make them pay, to realize who was really in charge. But I could not give Christine any hint of how much I cared about her or her career.

I had thrown myself into composing a new opera, sometimes going days without food or sleep. I had let it consume me to help fill the hollow hours without her. It encompassed all of the longing and passion I felt for her, all of the frustration of not being near her …but with a happier ending.

I was touched that she remembered my song…her song…with such detail. I had only sung it that one time, that one beautiful night nearly two months ago. Her voice always moved me but this rapture was something entirely new, like she was calling to me.

Why is she crying? She looks so sad though she is singing so beautifully. My resolve is weakening. I want to wipe those tears away, to take her in my arms and comfort her. I can not stay away. I must go to her_…_I can't remember now why I have stayed away…

"What a beautiful song, Christine…"

Ah, that is why_. _Anger welled up inside me as he approached her. Venom was coursing through my veins as I watched him reach out for her. The thought of anyone else touching her was agony_. She is mine!_

But hadn't I wanted this? Well not wanted, but hadn't I decided to give her up so she could marry him and have all that she deserved. Her happiness was worth my anguish. The only way I could stand this dark deal I had made with myself was knowing that she would be the winner, that she would have everything she had ever desired. If that meant that he won too (for he would have her, the greatest prize a man could hope for) then so be it.

He isn't doing a very good job of wooing her though. I could not suppress a grin as she declined his invitation to dinner. I broke into an outright smile as she refused his offer to accompany him to the park tomorrow. I had to bite my lip to keep from chuckling as she turned him down for the masquerade. Whose side am I on?

He insisted on accompanying her down from the roof, despite her protests. All traces of my recent good humor evaporated when he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her. I wanted to leap from my hiding place and tear his hand off, or better yet, rip his throat out. She turned towards the door to follow him, but glanced back towards me, or the statue I hid behind, "please come back to me," she whispered.

I couldn't catch my breath. I could only manage shallow gasps and there was a physical pain in my chest. Had she somehow known I was here? Oh, Christine, how will I find the strength to live without you?

CHAPTER FOUR

GETTING READY

Somehow another month had passed. My whispered plea on the rooftop had not been obeyed. I had been singing his song and thinking about him so intensely that I felt his presence all around me, but it was wishful thinking. For the years he had been my angel of music he seemed to always be near, quickly answering my every call. But that had changed after I did the unthinkable…the unforgivable.

Sometimes when I thought about that night I got angry that he had broken his promise. Hadn't he said _I would live as I never lived before?_ He had said I could belong to him, and I wanted that! I wanted to feel that magic again. But I always came back to the same horrible realization. My anger was at myself…I had betrayed him. I had broken the spell and now I wouldn't have the chance to even let the dream begin. Could he ever forgive me?

I wanted more than ever to see him. I spent Christmas with Meg and her mother; they were the only family I had. Over the holiday I had wriggled the story of how_ he _came to the opera house from Madame Giry. The tale disturbed me to the depths of my sole, to think of the beaten, hungry child whose only sin had been the disfigurement he could not help, only hide. No wonder he had called himself those hideous names, monster… gargoyle… carcass. He had been raised by evil people then left to fend for himself. It wasn't surprising that his temper was so uneven, like that of a child. He had never truly had a childhood. Had he ever known love? I had never really known my mother, and my father was only with me until my seventh year, but I had very happy memories. My father had been everything to me and I cherished him. Who did my angel have? I wish I had known all of this before that night, and I wish I had the chance to tell him how sorry I am.

I feel slightly hopeful about the masquerade tonight, though I know how dangerous hope can be. It had taken two months to squash it from even the smallest of thoughts, now it was clawing its way back in. But I can't help thinking he will be observing the festivities. Will he be able to resist coming when every person will be in a mask? I cannot stop the tiny bud of excitement in my stomach. I savor it. Maybe this time my hope will lead me to more than disappointment.

Meg and I have chosen our dresses and masks for the evening. She will wear a pale pink lacy dress and a golden mask with pink satin ties and feathers. My dress is black satin and silver lace with a red satin sash adorned with a red rose. I found a pretty black and grey mask to match, but had decided instead on a white mask. The look reminds me of _him_, and that is by choice. It is a small tribute, a lame apology, but it is all I can do.

We giggle and squeal as we get ready. It really is like old times and I enjoy it as much as she does. "It's so nice to see you like this Christine. I miss it," she laughs.

"Me too, Meg." I am in a very good mood thanks to my tiny shred of hope and her infectious laughter. I can't help smiling broadly at her.

"Do you think he'll be there?" She asks seriously. She studies my mask but says nothing about it. I know she wants to ask.

"I don't know, but I hope so," I admit. Saying it out loud strengthens the hope.

"He'll get the message…if he's there." She smiles again and I return it warmly, hoping she is right. "Christine…" she begins hesitantly, "are you sure you want to see him again? I mean you only met him the one time and it didn't…I mean he hasn't…" she trails off awkwardly. "The Viscount can't keep his eyes off you, and he's such a gentleman and so generous. You could be happy again, Christine." She looks at me earnestly.

"I have known him since I was a little girl Meg. It's true that I had never seen him, but he has always been there for me. I learned so much from him, and I could tell so much about him just from his voice, his tone and manner of expression." She looked skeptical, and I wanted her to understand as much as I needed to reaffirm these thoughts to myself.

"I felt I knew him almost as well as I knew myself. And that night…his song was telling me that I belonged with him. I was enraptured and I have never felt that way with Raoul," I sighed. "His anger is frightful, but I have only seen it that one time and I truly deserved it. I had a brief glimpse of how things could be, and it was magical." I smiled at the memory.

"Everything else is trivial in comparison to the way I felt with him. There was so much promise in his words…and not the empty, predictable promises I hear from the Viscount."

"Okay, but he has stayed away for three months now. I hope as much as you do that he is there tonight…but what happens if he's not?" She lowered her gaze and added, "I couldn't bear to see you so disappointed," the last word was barely a whisper.

"I will wake every day and be the best person I can be. I will practice hard and work hard, and be a good friend to you. That is all I really can do." I had actually thought of writing him a letter and either giving it to Mme. Giry or putting it in box five. I thought it best not to mention this to Meg right now; first we will see what happens tonight.

(Erik's POV)

My irritability was almost uncontrollable these days. I couldn't even muster a smile as I listened to the two girls. She hopes I'll be there…"of course I'll be there_," _I mutter bitterly. How the hell am I supposed to let the boy have here when I hear her say such things about me? I can taste the bile in my throat and feel the sting of anger and frustration behind my eyes. I had become so distraught while finishing my opera… resentful that my love for her was so strong that I must give her up; Bitter that her happiness was so much more important to me than my own. Why couldn't I love her less so it didn't hurt so much? But nothing in my life had ever been easy or painless; nothing but being a teacher and friend to that sweet child.

"No!_" _I growled… "Nothing but anger will let me do what I must." Even she, who was so quick to accept all blame, said my anger was frightful. I know I need this ire. I must embrace rage and fury to face her again without falling at her feet and begging her for forgiveness. She would hate me for it, but that would be easier than seeing her disappointment yet again. Hate was so much more familiar to me than the tumultuous emotions always so close to the surface with even the smallest thought of her. I was never meant to feel such things. Hate is safe and comfortable.

I am feared by all and tonight will not be an exception. Those idiots who have charge of my theatre WILL obey my wishes. I will present my opera and accompanying instructions and I will be heeded, or else… I stomped off, back down the tunnel, scowling and ranting the entire way. My anger was welcome and refreshing after the unrelenting sentiments of the past few weeks.

My costume is meant to shock and alarm the revelers. I am to be Red Death. It is a vibrant suit of red, well tailored, of course. The jacket is adorned with gold brocade and trailing from the shoulder there is a long red cloak to match. The mask is more full coverage than my usual, and is rough and skeletal as opposed to smooth porcelain. I plan to blacken the skin around my eyes for a dramatic, corpse like appearance.

I felt a stab of sadness as I imagined her reaction, but I cannot let it deter me. It is essential that she be frightened of me as well. I need her to choose the boy…I can live like this no longer. At present neither one of us is happy nor can I give her the felicity she deserves. Why must it always come back to this?

CHAPTER FIVE

THE MASQUERADE

"You Look lovely Meg," I said truthfully. "Francois's jaw will surely drop when he sees you." Meg had been asked by a smitten young stage hand, and I couldn't be happier for her.

"Thanks, you don't look bad yourself," she said playfully. "Will you walk down with us? He's meeting me at the entrance to the dormitories."

I nodded. She was trying to be nice so I didn't have to enter alone and I was grateful. "But you know the Viscount will probably be waiting," she said, her playfulness gone for the moment.

"I had hoped he would ask someone else. The other dancers fall all over themselves when he's around." I sighed loudly. "Maybe he'll surprise us and turn up with a date," I added hopefully.

"It's time to find out. Are you ready?" She called, heading for the door.

I was nervous, but not as much as I had expected to be. I quickly checked my reflection in the mirror. I adjusted my mask, and thought how strange it would be to wear one everyday. Did he wear it when he was alone?

As predicted Meg's suitor was in awe when he saw her. I smiled broadly seeing their reactions to each other. This is what it could be like, for someone who didn't have to live in shadows and darkness. It was what I used to dream about, what Meg and I had spent countless evenings fantasizing about. The dream which had been mine for a decade had changed in one night.

"I'll see you two later, go have fun," I said, gazing at Meg with my best I'm okay look. They walked off together, but after a few steps she turned back and smiled at me. I glanced around, my eyes finally coming to rest on Carlotta. She was with Piangi, the male lead here at the opera.

"You look lovely mademoiselle, may I have the pleasure of this dance?" I knew before I turned that it was Raoul. I hadn't been here five minutes yet. I wasn't sure what to do. If I said no now then he would most likely hang around asking again. If I said yes, he would surely hang around. I decided to accept, but tell him it would just be the one time and to find other partners. I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn't flattered by his attentions, but I couldn't feel about him the way he wanted me too. He was kind of whiney about it too, and he never took "no" gracefully.

"I just arrived and I promised to meet some friends. Maybe in a little while, okay?" I said, turning to face him and smiling sweetly. I didn't' wait for a response; I just started walking toward the grand staircase. Thankfully I spotted two friends from my ballet corps days who probably wouldn't think it odd if I went over to say hello.

It was strange to see almost everyone in a mask; sort of romantic really. Unless you had to wear one everyday, then it must seem anything but romantic. I looked around, trying to recognize people, and wondered what _he_ thought about this strange tradition. People got so excited to wear costumes, to alter their identity. I imagined he would scoff and think it foolish.

For an hour I walked around talking to people I know. I hadn't seen any sign of _him_, and was about to seek refreshment when Raoul spotted me and glided over. There was no escaping a dance with him without being outright rude. I sighed, and turned in his direction.

"Mademoiselle, would you honor me now?" he asked, bowing slightly.

"Certainly, sir," I offered my hand and was lead to the center of the floor. I felt his arm slip around my waist and had to repress a shudder. It felt soft and awkward. I couldn't help but compare how firm and sure _his _arm had felt around my waist. But Raoul was a competent dancer, and I was enjoying myself a little as we talked about our shared memories of my father.

Suddenly I sensed _him._ I knew he was there without seeing him, and I was certain his smoldering gaze was on me. My pulse quickened and I could feel my face becoming flush. I did not want Raoul to notice, lest he think the effect was caused by him. I took every opportunity to glance around while dancing, but couldn't spot_ him_. I was certain that I would know him immediately, costume or not. When I felt I could not stand it for a moment longer, the music slowed, and then finally stopped. The dance could not have ended at a better time.

"Thank you for the dance, Raoul," I said, quickly disengaging his embrace. I was feeling jittery and wanted to get away from the Viscount as soon as possible. I took a few steps towards the refreshment table and spotted a deserted alcove along the far wall. My thoughts were scattered and I needed to be alone for a moment to collect them. I had wanted to see him for months, had thought about him, and what I wanted to say about my horrendous betrayal that night. But how could I make him understand my behavior when I didn't understand it myself. Anguish as acute as my first moments after coming back through the mirror washed over me. Why had I done it? Why hadn't I apologized afterwards? Why hadn't I said anything at all? After his anger had abated, and he seemed so broken, he had said _fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster_. Why hadn't I responded to that? What kind of person watches so majestic a figure break down like that and says nothing?

I was so deep into my self condemnation that I had forgotten about Raoul . He was coming towards me, looking slightly perplexed. I couldn't think of what to say, my mind was reeling with questions and thoughts of another.

"Christine, why did you walk away from me so quickly?" Raoul asked accusingly. I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't want to hurt anyone else, but now was not the time for this. I couldn't think straight, I couldn't focus on him.

"I am in want of some refreshment. I may have exerted myself with that dance," I said, lacking the ability to come up with something a bit cleverer.

"Let me fetch you some wine, my dear," he said, bowing before walking away. I looked around for somewhere to go, somewhere private, when I noticed some performers gathering on the grand staircase. There were some mimes, a juggler and a dozen or so people dressed in similar black, white and gold costumes. I hurried up the stairs, knowing the entertainers would soon be using the area for their show. Once at the top I stepped around the back of an enormous ornate column.

"Now what?" I whispered. I had gotten away from Raoul, but I still didn't see my angel of music anywhere. I know he is here, somewhere. Should I stop hiding so that he can find me? That's ridiculous…he has always been able to find me, it's just that now he doesn't want to see me. Okay then, I'll find him.

(Erik's POV)

Is she mocking me with her costume? The look of the mask and the black dress with the red rose all feel a little too familiar. The three things together suggest more than a coincidence. She does look very beautiful, but I hate to see a wretched mask upon her face. Unlike me she has nothing to hide, but it does not detract from her perfection. I want to believe the look is for my benefit. I already know of her sweet, forgiving nature. She is unaware that I know this though, so maybe this is meant as an apology, not a mockery. I wish that I could ask her; instead I know I will accuse her. She must hate and fear me for my plan to work. I will be the opera ghost, the despised phantom, once more.

"Grrr," I growl as I clench my fists. My resolve is weakening again. I want to be with her so badly. She has all but consumed my life for ten years, first as a sad, pitiful child; later as a lovely, talented woman. I had never meant to fall in love. Why had I let myself fall in love? I was not meant for such things!

I breathed deeply and summoned the strength for the task at hand. The waltz is over, but where is Christine? Scanning the crowd I see only the boy. I should not have turned away when I saw them dancing. I need to get used to the sight of them together. But I know this is not possible, I will never be used to it. Seeing her in his arms, smiling up at him, is pain equal to any beating I have known. The scars on my back from many brutal lashings are nothing compared to the scars that will be on my heart from their union. Still I know I am doing the right thing for her, and I will withstand the pain as I always have; anything for her.

Okay, the time has come to stop wallowing in self pity. I lower the lights and extinguish some of the candles, a trick I learned many years ago. I walk slowly out to the stairs and smile as I see the confusion all around. People, these fools in costume, are looking all about to see what has happened. I wait patiently until I hear the first gasp and someone points up at me. I wait still, as more and more eyes find there way to me. A few moments later the murmuring stops and I know that I command the attention of everyone in the room.

"Why so silent good monsieurs?" Taking deliberately slow steps, "Did you think that I had left you for good?" Two more steps, "have you missed me good monsieurs?" Cautiously I descend a few more steps, "I have written you an opera, here I bring the finished score," I hold up the leather case containing my masterpiece. "Don Juan Triumphant," I throw it on the landing, drawing my sword with the other hand. "Fondest greetings to you all," I stroke the blade of my sword.

There is fear. I see it as I give my instructions to Carlotta, insult Piangi, and reproach my managers. I desperately want to add that my Christine should play the lead, after all I had written the entire thing for her. But I have to hope it will be obvious to them all after they have read it. She is still unaccounted for and I see the boy's hand moving towards his sword. I finish my speech with a few threats, hints at what will happen if my instructions are not obeyed. Andre is actually shaking. Good. I can only hope that she is watching from a distance or will be told of the Phantom's fearsome appearance. I catch Meg Giry's eye before I depart and scowl at her. She is afraid. She will tell Christine to stay away now.

CHAPTER SIX

THE MEETING

I stepped away from the column and moved towards a niche containing a pedestal with a very large vase full of flowers. I could see most of the staircase and all of the lower level. I slid between the structure and the curve of the niche wall. I spied on the crowd, looking only for one. Whoosh, a stiff breeze grazes my cheek and the large candelabra a few feet away go dark. It's just like the night in my dressing room after the performance. Just before he came to me the candles blew out suddenly. I placed a hand on the pedestal to steady myself and gather my courage. Then I saw him.

He was moving slowly to the top of the staircase. For more than a few moments I was speechless. He looked amazing. I could not tear my gaze away; red was a very pleasing color on him. He moved slowly but purposefully down the stairs, speaking in a soft, melodious tone, though his voice seemed to echo somehow. He was polite at first, though mocking, and then a malicious undertone crept beneath his words. I could see revulsion and fear on the faces of the crowd. It was so like him to be elegant while instilling fear.

He has written an opera, maybe this explains the months of silence from the phantom. Madame Giry had told me of his musical genius, of his many contributions to the opera house. She had said he was very accomplished at many aspects of the opera, from composing and choreography to sets and architecture. I had been surprised, but not by his prowess, only that I had known him for so long, but never realized it.

He is coming back this way, moving much quicker than before. Now is my chance to speak to him. Relinquishing my hiding spot I stand in the open corridor, wondering if anyone would follow him. When he sees me he halts immediately. I am very nervous, but not afraid. I take in the view of him from the front. He is wearing a mask that covers both sides of his face from mid forehead to just above his lips, and his eyes are blackened, making them stand out, even brighter, a beautiful shade of grayish green. He is magnificent. I, who had thought of what I would say to him a thousand times, can not find words. He looks startled too, quite unable to hide his surprise.

I wonder if this is as hard for him as it is for me; I had been the one in the wrong, the one who had to ask for forgiveness. He would be the one who hopefully did the forgiving. First I had to stop staring, and then I had to say something. The silence is bordering on awkward.

"Hello," I say softly, unsure if my voice would actually work. It does though, and I try to smile but think it comes across as more of a smirk. His expression gives none of his thoughts away; his jaw is set in a strong line and his gaze is unwavering. He does not speak.

"I…um…wanted to speak with you for a moment, if that's alright." I finish lamely. I hold his gaze, not wanting to appear weak or afraid. But still he does not speak. Why doesn't he say something?

When I can stand it no longer, and am just about look away he gives a slight nod. Had I not been looking at him so intently I wouldn't have seen it. I'm not sure if he is waiting for me to say something else, or if I should begin here. I peek around him to see if anyone is coming up the stairs, if some brave soul has followed him. I spot Raoul coming across the floor towards the stairs and feel sure he wants to confront the famous phantom. My eyes find his again, but his expression remains unchanged. I really want him to say something, but he is frustratingly silent.

(Erik's POV)

The sight of her halted me in my path and I could only stare. We hadn't been this close since that night on the roof, and she hadn't been looking at me then. In fact, she had never looked at me like this. Her soft brown eyes were wide with…with something I had never seen directed at me before. If I had to guess I would call it admiration, but mixed with something else I didn't recognize. It was an effort to remain still and seem unaffected. I set my jaw firmly to keep my lips from moving, unsure of my self control. I closed my eyes and willed them to appear steely when opened. I was filled with exhilaration at the sight of her, with the way her eyes swept over me; with the apology and the longing I saw there and knew would be mirrored in my own eyes if I could not control myself.

Inside I was melting, but I must appear unyielding. I grit my teeth to keep from speaking. It was hard watching her struggle, not to mention ungentlemanly. We must leave this corridor, someone surely would try to follow the opera ghost, and I could not risk her getting hurt. I bowed slightly and turned to indicate that she should follow. Her relief at a response from me was evident. I led her to a narrow brick passageway I hadn't used in many months. Once inside I turned to face her, fixed my stare and made a sweeping motion with my hand, indicating she should begin.

"I…" she started, but then stopped, looking at the floor. I wanted to slip my fingers under her chin and tilt her face up so that I could look at her, but I clenched my fists to keep from moving. There was a time when I never would have let her labor like this, but I must remain impassive, and I am curious to her what she has to say. Thankfully her gaze returns to me a few moments later and she begins again.

"I owe you an apology," she whispers. By now she knows I will not interrupt, I will not speak, so she quickly adds, "I behaved very badly, I had no right to…to take…such liberties," she sighs deeply, looking down once more. Slowly she reached behind her head and untied the mask she had been wearing, she pulled her hand away and the mask fell from her face and dangled by the satin ribbon she was still holding. I'm not sure if this is meant to be a reminder of the last time she removed a mask or if it is just a coincidence. I, of all people, am aware of how uncomfortable a mask can be.

When she looked up again there were unshed tears in her eyes, and I grit my teeth even harder to stifle a gasp. This might be my undoing, for I have never been able to resist her, and to see her cry is agony. "There are things I should have said, that I wanted to say even then, but I didn't." A single tear escaped and trailed slowly down her cheek. Oh, how I wanted to wipe it away. To run my thumb across her lovely cheek and tell her not to cry. "To this day I don't know why I did not speak, it is my greatest offense and I will regret it always," Two more tears fell. Just as I unclench my fist to move towards her, to wipe the tears away, she speaks again.

"I want you to know," her gaze is watery but still penetrating, "I was fearful of your anger, but of nothing else." She stares at my mask and I catch her full meaning. She is telling me that she did not fear me because of my wretched disfigurement but because of my black temper. She has such a gentle heart, such a sweet nature. I have let myself fall in love with a creature that is superior in every way. Who deserves her love? Certainly not me, and not the Viscount either.

"You told me that fear can turn to love, that I would learn to see the man behind the monster," her tone had changed, become resolute. "I should have told you then that I did not fear you, or consider you a monster. I should have begged your forgiveness, but I said nothing. Please forgive me," She finished in a whisper, sounding so remorseful. Her tears, and her sorrowful tone and her beautiful words were jabs at my heart. I want to take her in my arms and tell her I forgive her, to make her happy, to give her anything and everything she desired.

Only the Viscount can give her everything, I remembered soberly. Now is the only chance I might have to set her free. I realize I am almost breathless and my lips are parted, that my rapture is obvious. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and set my jaw once again. I silently say goodbye to her, knowing that once I do this she will seek me out no longer. Another deep breath and I am ready.

"Maybe, Mademoiselle," I growl. "That is because you know I AM a monster," the coldness in my voice surprises even me. "You don't know how lucky you are," I add maliciously. "I wanted to steal you away, to keep you from all that you love, to use and discard you," I take another deep breath before my voice breaks from the lies and betrays me. "But now," I sneer, "I no longer have any use for you." Her tears are flowing heavily and I take a menacing step towards her, "you should go." I practically bark, and take another step so I am only inches from her. She moves backward a step and is against the tunnel wall. I move forward still, and bend so that our noses are almost touching, "The Viscount is surely looking for you," I hiss fiercely.

Her tears have stopped flowing and she leans towards me, closing the miniscule space, but she does not look angry or afraid. And then, to my horror, my joy, my utter astonishment, she places her lips on the upper corner of my mouth. I realize that again my lips are parted and that my chest is heaving. She is delicious. I close my eyes to stop the burning sting behind them. I know my own tears are not far away.

No! She pulls back, her soft, sweet lips leaving mine. I am afraid to open my eyes. Afraid to see the look on her face, afraid my tears will fall. A touch, as light as a feather is on my lip again, she is running her finger over the spot where she kissed me. I am well beyond feigning anger now; I do not want this ecstasy to end. I am frozen, rooted to this spot, but not sure what to do. No one has ever caressed me before, let alone kiss me, and this is not just anyone, this is my beloved Christine. I feel the hot tears escape their prison and slip beneath the mask sticking to my cheeks, and then I slowly open my eyes to face the unknown.

She is looking at me with pity. No, not pity, tenderness, and that same look from the corridor… what is that? Her other hand moves towards my mask, instinctively I draw back, and her expression waivers slightly. She leans forward, closing the gap I have just created and I feel a light pressure on my cheek. Some of my tears must have fallen over the mask and she lightly wipes them away. I cannot catch my breath, and then her lips are one mine once more, in the middle and moving slowly. The sensation is overwhelming, without further prompting my lips mirror the movement of hers, and my arms slip around her waist, drawing her to me. I am on fire, I will surely combust.

(Christine's POV)

He took pity on me and motioned for me to follow him. He still did not speak, but this seemed to indicate that, at least, he was willing to listen. I tried to think about what I wanted most to say as I followed. He led me through a door I had never seen before and into a very narrow brick passageway. There wasn't much room inside, and when he indicated that I should begin I moved around him towards the wall, he turned to face me. I couldn't believe the words that had been on the tip of my tongue for months seemed now to be stuck in my throat. But this might be my one and only chance, so I began.

He said nothing and stood rigid as I spoke. I wanted to squirm under his harsh gaze, but instead I looked away. Arrrgh, why do I have to cry now? I don't want to appear feeble…it is not pity that I seek. When I've said all I can think of under such scrutiny, a dark look crosses his face. When he finally speaks it is cold and unkind. He is angry but I deserve all of it. Obviously I am not forgiven, but this I do not deserve. He moves very close to me, and his scent is bewitching. He smells of parchment, and candle wax, and something earthy, maybe a spice of some sort. It is heavenly. I am lost in his scent and only vaguely hear him hiss something about Raoul. His closeness, his scent, his beauty are overwhelming and I'm finding it difficult to concentrate.

His lips part slightly and I become distracted by his mouth. His teeth are perfect and very white, and his upper lip slopes the tiniest bit on the right side, where there is the faintest trace of a white scar. More than anything I want to kiss it, and without realizing I am moving, I do kiss it. His body stiffens, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. I had not meant to do it, I was only thinking about it, but I am not sorry. This feels wonderful, his lips are very warm and the gust of breath tickles delightfully, but I pull away, unsure of his reaction. I was expecting him to push me away again, and when he doesn't I cannot resist touching him; wiping his tears…I should have done this that night. I don't know what else to say to him, I don't trust my voice, but I refuse to do nothing, so I kiss him, properly this time. His lips move with mine, very softly at first, then his kiss deepens and becomes more urgent. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. A low moan sounds in his throat. I had no idea my heart could beat this fast, surely he can hear it.

"Christine," he whispers, and then his lips return to mine. "Forgive me," another whisper. Forgive him for what? My mind tries to stumble from the dreamy haze. Was he planning to do something that needed forgiving or was it something he had already done? I haven't seen him in so long, what could he be talking about? Could he be referring to the things he had just said? I want to ask, but I do not want this kiss to end, and I don't want to be the one to break the spell again.

After another few moments he pulls back a little, removes his gloves and moves a hand up to my face. The feel of his hand on my skin is wonderful; he is so warm and so gentle. He has only ever touched me with gloves on. "Why do you ask my forgiveness, Angel?"

I could have stood like that for hours, looking at him and reveling in his touch, but I will not remain silent this time, it had been the biggest mistake of my life the last time we were together.

"Not here," his voice is hoarse. "Come," he said, some of the smoothness back in his voice, holding out his hand. I place my hand in his and follow, unable to keep my eyes off him. Immediately I blush at the though, and just as I am thinking how grateful I am that he does not see, he turns to look at me. If he notices he does not say. I hope we are going to his lair; I really want another chance at what I am sure would have been magical. I remember how he had leaned into my caress, how contented he had looked…before I ruined everything.

As we moved through the tunnel he remained silent. This made me nervous again; I couldn't shake the memory of the last time. There were so many questions I wanted to ask. Where have you been for three months? Did you mean any of the things you said tonight? Do you forgive me? Will you continue to teach me? I knew I had to say something, but I did not want to make him angry. "You look amazing," slipped out before I had time to stop myself. What was happening to me tonight? First I kiss him without thinking and now this. It's as if my brain doesn't trust me to do the right thing and just acts out. I could feel the flush on my face and I had to look away.

He stopped and turned to me, I was looking down at his boots, and he slid a finger under my chin and gently lifted my face until I was looking into his eyes. Such beautiful eyes, and so exaggerated by the blackness all around them. In all my adolescent hopes and dreams about him, about wishing my angel were a man who would come to me, I never thought it would be like this. I knew he was talented, I knew he was moody; I knew he was compassionate, and I figured he would be handsome in a way, something like Raoul. What I never imagined was this beautiful man, so exotic in his movements, so hypnotic with eyes, so seductive with his voice. I have seen his disfigurement and I don't think it makes him any less beautiful. God had to give him some imperfection; otherwise he really would be an angel.

"The blush on your face is very becoming, Christine," he said in a low voice. He closed his eyes and continued, "I would love to know what you are thinking of." He sighed deeply and opened his eyes, they were radiant. "Thank you for the compliment, but you need not say such things. You are forgiven already," his words now barely a whisper.

"I did not say it to appease you in any way," I said, moving closer to him. "I was speechless when I saw you; you quite took my breath away," I added, looking at him somewhat defiantly. I wanted him to understand the truth in my words. I hadn't meant to say them aloud, as I hadn't intended to kiss him, but I regretted neither. He was looking at me very intensely, and I looked away, a little embarrassed.

He held out his hand once more, and I took it. We started moving through the passage again, and he was silent again. I noticed that he turned to look at me often, as he had that first time. That felt so long ago now. Thinking about it I realized that it did not seem like we were going in a downward direction. If we weren't heading to his home below the opera, where were we going? I was just about to ask when he opened a door I hadn't seen. It was sunken into the passage wall, and inside was a narrow, winding staircase. The only direction was up, and I followed, still holding his hand. The climb did not take long; moments later he opened a small, rounded door and led me through. There was machinery, a gear of some sort, in the center of the room, and a small round window high up on the sloping wall.

He walked to the gear thing in the center of the small room and turned to face me. His expression was dark, unreadable, but when he spoke his voice was soft. "I have so many questions…I know not where to begin."

I smiled, "I know exactly how you feel." We could stay here all night asking each other questions or maybe if I summarized the past three months I would answer a lot of his questions along the way, and then he could do the same, answering mine. And then we could get back to the kissing. As soon as the thought entered my conscious I felt the heat on my face. I looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice and said quickly, "Let me start then…by telling you again how I am haunted by what I should have said and by what I shouldn't have done. I have thought of it every day since then, thought of you every day." I was calm as I spoke, but my heart was beating wildly. And I decided to just get used to blushing in front of him.

I knew before I started that this would be embarrassing at times, but I just needed to get the truth out in the open. I wanted to know why he had said those things to me earlier, but then kissed me the way he did. I was anxious to hear his side, but I needed to unburden myself too.

"I cried all that day. I was consumed by how selfish I had been, and I bitterly regretted my silence. I wanted so badly to see you again, to beg forgiveness, to continue as your pupil. I knew that you were the opera ghost, the phantom people whisper about so fearfully." I heard him exhale, as if he had been holding his breath. "I assumed you would appear; I looked hopefully into every shadow." I finally slowed down and took a breath, now comes the hard part, but it felt good somehow to be telling him this. "But I never saw you and every day that I did not seemed longer than the previous. I missed our lessons and I missed you," I chanced a look at him, the sight sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. His eyes were fixed on me with a warm glow, his lips were parted and he was taking shallow breaths. He seemed to be anxious for my next word.

(Erik's POV)

I plan for everything, but I never could have foreseen this. My lovely Christine was telling me that she missed having me in her life. Could it be in the same way that I missed her? She had kissed me…twice, and I believed what she said. I had meant to frighten and intimidate, but she thought it was amazing. She is amazing; could she really see the man behind the monster? Every hope I have ever had has been crushed, could it be different this time, different with her? The feel of her in my arms, her lips on mine, the way my heart stuttered when she looked at me as she had tonight, I never wanted these feelings to end. The truth might scare her away, but she had to know about me, the truth of who I am may release her from any imagined obligation she feels for me. I wanted her love, but now I did not want to force mine on her.

"I have missed you too. But I have seen you many times these past months." I met her gaze. "I stayed on the other side of the mirror for hours that day; I thought you were upset by the sight of…of what you saw." I lowered my eyes; I couldn't bear to see disappointment on her face after the wonderful emotions I had seen displayed there tonight. She stepped closer to me and took my hand in hers. "I heard your conversation with Meg." I looked at her again, drawing strength to continue from her warm look. "I…after hearing how selfless you are, how you accepted all blame though I pushed you away and cursed at you, I knew that you were too good for me." This was harder than I thought, what would she think of me when she knew everything?

I took a deep breath before continuing. "I wanted you to have everything you ever wanted and I wanted you to be happy. I decided that the Viscount could give you what I could not," my voice nearly broke at the thought of giving her up now. She placed her other hand on my cheek, sensing my distress. "That is why I stayed away. I wanted you to think that I did not want to see you, and I hoped the two of you…" I broke off, unable to finish the thought.

She released my hand and placed hers on my other cheek. I didn't flinch though she now had both hands on my mask. She was gently pulling my face toward hers, my anguish from a moment ago disappeared and I leaned in and kissed her. How could I ever have thought of letting her go? This is surely the most exquisite feeling on earth.

"I was on the roof the night you went up there," I didn't want to keep anything from her now. Things had changed, before I had been content to use my authority over her, to lure her with my voice. I had seen that misty quality in her eyes that night; I knew I had some power over her. But now her eyes were clear and bright and she still wanted to be with me. Three month ago I was content to force her, now I wanted her to be mine, but willingly, only willingly.

"You sang the song I wrote for you, and it was very beautiful," The memory of my joy at hearing her that night came back to me and I smiled.

She gasped. "I have never seen you smile before. It's wonderful." She dazzled me with a beautiful smile in return. I still had my arms loosely around her waist and I let them fall and took a step back.

"I don't deserve you." There, I had said it. She had to know that it was true. "I have done terrible things, Christine…things even an unsavory character would condemn." Hopefully she wouldn't ask for details, no lady should here those. I wasn't that person anymore though, she had changed that, had made me want to be a better man. For years I have wanted to kill that meddling, lecherous stage hand, Joseph Buquet, but I haven't. I hadn't tortured anyone in ages either and I had no desire to. Well, except maybe the Viscount.

Now I put my energy into music. This we had in common, it had brought us together. I felt a soaring wave of pure hope. Thoughts of Christine by my side, happily and willingly filled my head. Suddenly I wished we were down in my home, sitting in front of the fire, talking…and kissing. Why had I brought her up here instead? There was only one way up, and from here I could see anyone attempting to follow us. Or maybe it's because I didn't trust myself with her.


	2. Chapter 2

So, he had seen my anguish and blamed himself. That made me angry, but not at him. I was mad at every unknown person who had hurt, belittled and wronged him. I know the sight of his face can be a shock; I had found that out to my cost, but certainly not worthy of brutality or persecution. From what Mme. Giry had told me, those gypsies had gravely mistreated him and were most likely responsible for damaging his already fragile soul. I have been with him twice now, and both times he has said very cruel things to me. To be fair, though, his charm and charisma far outweighed his cruelty on both occasions. But more upsetting than his anger and unkindness is the self loathing he is so full of.

I know I cannot change what has been done to him, but I can try to change the bleak view he has of himself. Would tenderness and adoration be enough for that? What of love, would that be enough? These were all I had to give, so I would have to make them be enough. And of course there is music. I love to sing. It is undoubtedly one of the greatest pleasures on earth and I feel like I become something beautiful when I sing. But music is even more to him; he has music in his blood and in his soul. Though I saw barely anything but him that night, I did notice the organ and the pages and pages of sheet music strewn about his lair. He didn't just sing the words like I did, he imagined the notes and the melodies, created the words, and lovingly brought it all together. He had been sitting at his organ writing music when I...did what I did.

"Angel," I said cautiously, wanting to continue the conversation, but not wanting to make him angry, or sad…the sadness was worse than anything. "You may have done terrible things in your past, but this is a new beginning. You told me once that you secretly dreamed of heaven. " I hated to bring up anything that had happened after I fainted, it was a painful memory. "God will forgive you." I finished, inadequately.

A haunted look crossed his face, as if he was remembering some of the "terrible things". He sighed deeply and turned away, taking a few steps towards the small window. I wondered whether I should go to him or give him a few moments to settle what was in his mind. He had stepped away, probably a sign that he needed a little space. I watched him closely though; his head was bowed, and his shoulders were tense. He was no more than a few feet away, but hardly ever more distant. This felt like the walk from the boat back to the mirror, the same heavy, brooding silence.

I wanted to just release all of his pain, take away the years of hurt, erase these past three months, but I had always been the weak one. Until tonight I had never been bold, not with him anyway. My role was that of obedient student, perhaps some of that had changed tonight as well.

"That night I also told you that I burned in hell," he said with bitter recrimination. Finally I stepped toward him.

(Erik's POV)

She did not need the details of my life before her, I would take those to my grave, but she deserved the truth about my deception where she was concerned. I had lied for more than ten years about being an angel of music. Obviously she knew the truth now, but had not mentioned the deceit. A moment ago I soared at the thought of our life together, but first things needed to be brought to light. I wanted no secrets between us now.

I heard movement on the stage below. Before I looked I knew it was that insolent, arrogant boy. He refused to let her go, and though I couldn't blame him for it, I hated him. My anger surged hot and wild in less than an instant, before I could even think about checking it. I was glad I had released her a moment ago and stepped away because I felt my body tense and my head begin to throb with the effort of maintaining my self control. Although maybe if she was still in my arms I wouldn't be reacting this way and I wouldn't be feeling the need to run down there and end his life right now. I was torn between wanting to reach out and pull her to me and going to him, sword drawn, ready to fight, willing to kill.

Is it possible that not even thirty minutes ago I had said those cruel things to my beloved angel in order to push her towards him? Sometimes even I did not understand the innermost workings of my mind. What would she think of me if I hurt him? Surely everything that had happened tonight would evaporate.

I have changed, though. I'm still standing here, and he's down there, still alive. That's something different for me. I chanced a look at her, hoping my face shows nothing of my sinister thoughts. As usual, she is exquisite. I could never tire of looking at her, or of the way she has looked at me tonight. With that thought my mind was made up. I would never risk losing that.

"I think, my dear, we have a guest." I said, pointing to the small window that looked down towards the stage area. "The Viscount is looking for you," I tried my best not to sound exasperated.

"Maybe," she said, grinning, "it is you he's looking for." Her playfulness caught me off guard. I had seen it often, but usually from afar. Since our relationship had been that of teacher and pupil, I was used to her more reserved side. I could certainly get used to this as well.

Regardless, she might have a point there. I had recently interrupted the festivities and made a few threats. Since he was the ever gallant patron of the opera house, this might be cause for offence. Did she want to go to him? She hadn't been interested in his company that night on the roof, but I had seen them dancing this evening. It wasn't a stiff, formal dance either. She had been smiling and talking to him as if she enjoyed his company. Is it possible that was only an hour ago? It had been hard for me to watch them, I had turned away, and that's when I had lost sight of her. But she had left his side to come and find me. The thought brought another smile to my face. The feeling was foreign, but very good. I don't think I smile twice a month, let alone twice in ten minutes.

"We could let him wander around all night," I said matter of factly. I didn't relish the thought of her going anywhere near him. There is still a chance she will come to her senses and choose him.

"He'll just keep looking for you. You may as well go talk to him; you haven't really done anything wrong." Her playful tone was gone.

I can think of a few things I want to go down there and do to him, talking isn't one of them. "Get it under control, no violence," I told myself. But I wanted to make him pay dearly for interrupting us. I had been waiting a lifetime to feel these wondrous things and if he ruined that or changed it in any way…I would choke every last breath out of him. Maybe I hadn't changed as much as I so recently thought, but for her, I had to try.

"Maybe you're right," I said, with a confidence I didn't feel. ""Come." I held out my hand. I guess we'll try talking.

The trip to the back stage area was swift, and mostly silent. She was very light on her feet and good at keeping up. Would she let go of my hand before he saw us? I hate the uncertainty I feel right now. I hate not being in control, not being able to dictate the outcome of a situation. Normally I would plan my attack, chose my escape routes, and be fairly certain that I would kill him. He would be found and people would once again start obeying my commands around here. Order and routine had become a necessity in my life of solitude. But she had turned that life upside down. She was—

"Come out and face me, coward" The boy said arrogantly, walking towards the orchestra pit.

Coward? It took a moment for the word to register, but when it did the rage was back with force. I let go of her hand and reached for my sword, no thought but of running him through. Before my sword was fully drawn she stepped in front of me.

"We're over here Raoul," she called before I realized her intent. We no longer held the element of surprise. He whipped around, sword in hand, eyes frantically searching the shadows.

"Christine?" He sounded confused. She had been correct; he was looking for me, but obviously had not expected to find her on his hunt. Eventually his eyes fell on her, instantly changing from confusion to affection. His expression told me he did not see me behind her and I quickly stepped forward, standing beside her possessively, cradling the hilt of my sword.

He could scarcely look more aghast when he saw me at her side. "Get away from her!" he said, recovering quickly. I could tell that he knew she was with me by choice, and not because I had abducted her. He was more intelligent than I had given him credit for, but I didn't hate him any less for it.

"This…this thing is your teacher? The angel of music you told me of?"

"Yes, Raoul," it was her turn to sound exasperated. "What is it you wish to say?" She was eyeing his sword, and when he noticed this, he lowered it, but didn't put it away.

"Has he harmed you, Christine?" He must have seen the answer on her face, because he didn't wait for her to speak. "Or is he just filling your head with more lies?" This was an unexpected turn, but the boy had a spine. It would take only a second for me to sever it…

"Hold your tongue, monsieur, or I shall make you." I said derisively.

"I am fine, as you see." She spoke quickly; I think to keep the conversation from getting out of hand. "What do you mean more lies?" Her tone was too inquisitive.

"Christine, you can't be serious. He has been deceiving you since you were a child. He took advantage of you, told you he was this…this angel of music, let you believe he was…" he paused and looked at me, disgust apparent on every inch of his face, "something other than a demon." He finished, pointing at me angrily.

This was a discussion I had wanted to have alone with her, was about to have if this arrogant, meddling fool hadn't shown up…I felt myself shaking with suppressed fury. I wasn't sure how much longer I could take this. I was afraid to look at her, afraid of what I would see there. Instead I fixed an icy stare on him.

"Raoul," she started, but he cut her off.

"Tell her, beast. Tell her how you preyed on an innocent young girl," He ranted. "Tell her how you manipulated her, then and now." He raised his sword again.

The insults I could handle. I hadn't known anything different my entire life. The sword pointing was more difficult to ignore. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I told myself. He had no idea how lucky he was that she was here. I gripped the handle of my sword tightly, not sure if I intended to withdraw it, but she placed her tiny hand on mine and squeezed it gently. I still couldn't look at her. What if she chose him?

"Raoul, please," She started again, but he capitalized on her pause.

"Did you hear what he said earlier? The threats he made? What right has he to make such demands?" Though his voiced was raised, he looked at her softly, pleadingly.

Still unable to bring myself to look at her, I continued to stare at him. "The lady is trying to speak," I said, barely managing to keep my manners civil. I was uneasy each time she tried to speak, but anxious to get this over with, and he was being quite rude.

She gave my hand another gentle squeeze. Was it meant as a thank you, or a goodbye? Then she spoke, and he was silent. "He is a great help to the opera house, our new managers just aren't used to it yet." That was a bit of an understatement. "But maybe now they will listen, and see what a true genius he is."

There are no words fit to describe my feelings as she said this. At long last, I turned to look at her. Would she ever cease to amaze me?

"Genius?" he said mockingly, then turned to me. "What have you done to her?" He looked as though he wanted to approach her, but my look clearly said don't you dare. He didn't move… who was the coward now? He did continue pleading though. "Christine, come with me. Think of the life we could have together. Your father would have wanted us to be together."

That was like a dagger to the heart, for he was certainly right. Of course he would have wanted his cherished daughter to marry a wealthy, influential aristocrat. Her stillness probably meant she was thinking the same thing.

Again he took advantage of her silence. "Christine, think about it. This monster," He gestured to me, as if either of us doubted of whom he spoke. "Has lied to you and has somehow disillusioned you."

She still didn't say anything, and I found myself desperately trying to fend off thoughts of how empty my life would be without her. How I had foolishly let hope beat me once again. I wanted to take my misery out on him; killing him would feel so good. She would never forgive that, I reminded myself.

"You lack imagination, monsieur." I said, hoping none of the doubt I was feeling was evident. I was getting tired of hearing his accusations of lying, probably because it was true.


	3. Chapter 3

I could feel the tension radiating from him. Every muscle in his body was rigid with…anger? Hatred? Restraint? The brilliant red costume now made him look dangerous. Perhaps that had always been his intent. I was growing more afraid every second. Afraid of what he would do, afraid of my own emotions, afraid I wouldn't be able to make them both understand my choice. There never really was a choice, but I didn't know what to say that would cause the least amount of hurt.

I had often wondered about his choice to claim he was an angel; countless times these past months I had asked myself why. I was certain his intent was not malicious, so what else could it have been? I wanted to know the truth, but I didn't want him to have to explain his motives in front of Raoul.

"I am not disillusioned and I don't feel as though I have been manipulated," I was looking at Raoul, but speaking to them both. "He has been the very best of teachers, continuing to expand my love of music; a passion my father so loving gave to me." From behind me I sensed some of the stiffness leave him just as I heard a faint gasp. I wanted to turn and look into those magnificent eyes, but I continued to look at Raoul. "He has given me my voice and so much more, my knowledge of history, my fondness for literature, and the list goes on. He challenges me to do better… to be better." Every word of that was true, and I wanted them both to know it.

Raoul took a small step towards me, and the tension behind me returned. "Good God Christine, think of what you are saying. He is the very devil himself. He is no better than an animal, a fiend hiding by day, coming out only for mischief and to take what is not his. I cannot allow this any longer, you must come with me." He stepped closer and reached out for me. Instantly I saw the flash of red.

He was out from behind me, his large hand around Raoul's throat before I could even take a breath. The contrast between them was striking. My angel was taller and broader across the shoulder, and he moved with unparalleled fluidity. He wasn't really chocking Raoul, more just holding him in place…forcefully. There was a ripple across the muscles in his back; he was holding himself back from doing any real damage. I wondered if it was usual for him to show such restraint in this type of situation, or if the outcome would normally be murder. Was that one of his "terrible things"?

There was such beauty in his power. Raoul was incapable of fighting back, the advantage lay with the better specimen. I could have watched him for hours. But I was growing weary of this discussion and anxious to continue the one I had been having before Raoul showed up. "I do not wish to go with you Raoul. I am flattered by your offer, but my choice is made. Please accept that and we can all move on." I hoped that outwardly I appeared calm. I was a little afraid for Raoul if he said anything stupid, or mistakenly chivalrous. But he only nodded and was released with a hard shove. He coughed and sputtered a bit dramatically, but his pride appeared to be the only thing wounded.

After taking a few moments to catch his breath he said, "All right, I understand what you are saying…but do you?" He kept his distance, and held up his hand, palm facing us, as a gesture of peace or surrender, or compliance. "You are young Christine; do you fully grasp the weight of your decision?" He paused, but when he didn't hear an answer he continued, "My fear is that he will never let you go, regardless of your wishes, and I would be remiss in my duties as a gentleman and friend if I let that happen." Me wanting to leave him wasn't something I could imagine.

Raoul looked only at him now, "you can't win her love by making her your prisoner." It was a brave thing to say after what had just happened, and I was touched by his concern. I don't think he was expecting a response, and he went on, resignation in his tone, "do you, at least, have a name?"

Oh my God! How had I never thought to ask that? I honestly don't think it had ever occurred to me. It would feel so strange to call him something other than angel or teacher, but I was curious now.

He only nodded, not really answering the question. But then he spoke in an eerily soft voice, "you have my word that I will not keep her against her will. She will always be free to go."

Raoul bowed his head slightly at that. So, we had come to an understanding at last. He shifted his attention to me, gave a deeper bow, and said, "I am here if you should ever need me. Goodbye, Christine."

Watching Raoul go I suddenly felt very light hearted, but at the same time nervous about being alone with him again. A lot had been said that I couldn't gage his reaction to, and a lot more remained to be said. He was still a few steps in front of me and I went to stand beside him. He turned to look at me, his face unreadable.

(Erik's POV)

That's what it feels like to let the enemy survive. Not nearly so emasculating as I thought. I hate to give him any credit, but he had actually been brave, annoying and petulant, but brave none the less. He knew how close he was to death, there was no doubt he expected me to kill him, I had seen it in his eyes. That was a look I was all too familiar with. And I had wanted to kill him. I had killed men for far less. He must have sensed that I was holding back for her sake and not his. She was important to him too, and I could find no fault with that. He was bound to love her when he heard her sing; it had been my affliction as well.

I also had to admit to myself, very grudgingly, that almost everything he had said was correct. I had manipulated her, lied to her and I had once been prepared to force her to stay with me. It was also true that her father would have wanted her to go with him. He was the better choice; I had known that for some time now. I had stayed away so that she would go with him, but by her own admission her choice was me.

There were many things I wanted to ask her, things I needed to know, because the reality of this moment makes no sense at all. More than anything it is what I want, and that is why I doubt it can be true. Happy is a word no one would use to describe my life.

"The new year is nearly upon us," she said sweetly, but then hesitated and added, "Angel." I had to chuckle at that. Clearly she wanted an answer to the Viscount's earlier question.

"My name is Erik." I was surprised at the sound of my voice; there was a husky, choked up quality to it. She had no idea the effect she has on me. Suddenly I was seized by an idea. I held out my hand for her, not saying anything because I didn't yet trust my voice.

I took her through the backstage area and stopped beside the enormous pile of backdrops not being used in the current production. I didn't want to leave her alone for even an instant, but the rest of the way was more of a crawl space. I guided her into the darkest corner and cleared my throat before I spoke, just in case. "Wait for me here, I will return in a moment."

It took less than three minutes, but felt longer because I kept thinking she would be gone when I returned. But she was there. "I know the perfect place to watch the fireworks from," I said, holding up the bottle of champagne and two glasses I had just stolen from the party. Today I am not a murderer because of her, but I am still a thief. Maybe we would work on that next. The thought brought a smile to my face; I was starting to get used to the feeling.

She giggled, a sound I had never appreciated enough, for it sounded as beautiful as when she sang. "The roof?" she asked, her lips forming an impish grin. I love that she is playful with me now; this is a side of her most often reserved for Meg and some of her other friends.

"Not what I had in mind, but okay. Shall we head over to costumes and get some cloaks?" She nodded, and I awkwardly put the champagne in the same hand I was holding the glasses with so that I could take her hand on the way. We picked the two warmest cloaks we could find and headed up to the roof. I had only been up here once since the night she came here and sang her song. I had come again to be closer to the memory, but it had been too sad, and I left after just a few minutes.

Tonight it was colder up here, but at least it wasn't snowing. I walked over to the edge and placed the glasses on the wall while I opened the champagne. After I filled the glasses I pulled out my watch to check the time, less than a minute to go. One minute left in this year of extreme highs and lows. I had spent months planning how too make Christine the star of the opera and preparing to take her below and make her love me, make her my wife. Then that glorious night, all had gone exactly as I planned, until she fainted. Then three of the worst months ever lived through; all leading up to tonight. When I had left my home this evening I expected to return desperately miserable, all hope of a life with her gone forever. Now she was here with me, she wanted to be here with me. This night I was taken from utter despair to unequalled happiness. I was pulled from my thoughts by the explosion of the first firework. I handed her a glass and held up my own in toast.

"Happy New Year Christine," I said. She touched her glass to mine and responded, "Here is to the rest of this year being as wonderful as tonight." I took a small sip and watched her over the top of my glass.

She giggled when she tasted it; she had probably never tried it before. It struck me how young she really was, and I remembered the boy's earlier words, "you are young Christine, do you fully grasp the weight of your decision?" He may have been right about that too. Damn him!

"Are you not enjoying the fireworks?" She asked with a slight frown.

"Christine…" before I could speak another word she placed a finger softly on my lips to stop me.

"I know that tone, and I recognize that look," she said with serious determination, leaving her finger on my lips. "You are about to say something woeful, and I am in too good of a mood for that," she finished, smiling beautifully.

I leaned into the touch of her fingertip and kissed it. Both my soul and my heart wanted to be with this woman more than anything, wanted to believe in every word she said. It is my mind that struggles with the idea, having been plunged into desperation and misery so often. Now it was hurling doubt after doubt at me, trying to protect me from further anguish. God has always denied me the pleasures he allows everyone else, why should this be any different? But I had to ask, I had to know.

I placed my hand over hers, kissed her fingertip once more and softly pulled her hand away. "Why, Christine?" my voice was strained and I continued quickly, afraid it would soon crack with emotion, "Why not him…Why me?" it came out as an agonized whisper.

"I don't love Raoul," she said, moving closer and placing her hand on my cheek, "I love Erik."

The combination of her words and the sound of her saying my name were more than I could bear. The tears came quickly and I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch. I felt her hair brush my chin as she leaned towards me. When her lips were just about to touch me she whispered, "You are the most magnificent creature…" and her lips were on mine.

I slipped one arm around her tiny waist and placed my hand on her back, the other hand I tangled in her hair and with both I pulled her as close to me as possible. I kissed her until I was straining for breath and then I moved my lips across her cheek and down her throat. Her skin was like satin and her hair smelled of flowers, the combination was intoxicating. I had to stop, now, while I could still think somewhat clearly.

I loosened my grip, but did not release her. I let go of her hair and moved my thumb across her cheek and to her lips. They were slightly swollen from the force of the kiss, and they looked fantastic. I could not keep the amazement out of my expression even if I tried.


	4. Chapter 4

The thought that she loved me was incredible. It took me a moment to grasp the enormity of it all. I had planned and schemed for so long, trying to make her love me. I had used the fact that she trusted me as a teacher and looked up to me as someone who nurtured and guided her. I had lured her that night without the intent of letting her go. Now, despite that, despite the incredibly horrible things I've said to her, despite the very sight of me, she loves me. How is that possible? The doubt was trying to claw its way back in already, but I fought it valiantly. This was too perfect. I took a step back just to admire her. She loved me, and she thought I was magnificent, I smiled widely.

The fireworks ended; we had missed almost the entire thing. Now I was unsure of what to do. I didn't want to take her back to her room; I wanted to take her home with me. I was not bound by convention, but to her it might be considered improper. I hadn't cared at all about that last time, but now I thought of her in a very different way.

She stepped towards me and wrapped her arms around my waist. Involuntarily I stiffened, still unused to someone embracing me, but quickly realized she was cold. I pulled the borrowed cloak around her and rubbed my hands up and down her back to help her get warm. I wanted her this close to me every day for the rest of my life. "Should we go inside…maybe by the fire?" I asked nervously, glancing down at her. Her look answered my question, but she was good enough to say, "Yes, please," with such sweet seriousness that it took my breath away.

I drank the rest of the champagne from my glass and picked up the bottle and her glass to bring with us. She stepped back from the embrace and the absence of her warmth startled me. I held out my hand to her and led the way, reveling in the thought that soon I would hold her close again.

"Tell me about the angel of music," she said, without any trace of accusation.

I thought back to that day so many years ago. I had been consumed by misery of my own, but the sound of her cries echoing through the tunnel had captured my attention. Her voice was very sweet even then, and I had spoken to try and comfort her, something nobody had done for me. I told her this as we wound our way down the stairs.

"Then you asked me if I was the Angel of Music, and I couldn't bring myself to say no and add to your grief. You have held all power over me since then, mademoiselle." I turned to look at her and she was smiling. "I had planned to tell you of the deception later, I just…" what could I say? There was no excuse. I turned and started towards the tunnel entrance.

"It wasn't even really a lie," she said, squeezing my hand. "The angel of music is merely a personification of musical inspiration, and that's exactly what you have been to me." I heard her sigh softly, and then "you said you have done terrible things…was Raoul almost one of those 'terrible things' tonight?" Again there was no hint of accusation in her tone, only curiosity.

She wasn't making it easy. My first instinct was to lie, to say no. But I had considered choking him to death. I had wanted it, but only briefly. Even in my rage I was aware that to kill him meant I would lose her. That was the one thing I had been unwilling to risk. I turned to look her full in the face, letting my emotions show as best I could, and simply said "yes."

She saw what I hoped she would. "You held back because of me?"

She said, lowering her gaze. Perceptive girl…and she loves me. That thought could never get old. "Thank you," she whispered.

Her capacity for forgiveness knew no bounds. I am surely the luckiest man alive. I wanted to get home and rebuild the fire so I could sit in front of it with her-– No! I suddenly pictured what it looked like down there. Nearly every surface was covered with drawings of her. I had drawn pictures of her eyes and pictures if her lips, there were drawings of the two of us, and sketches of her singing. I had carved her name into the stone wall behind my organ, scraping away for hours at a time, until my hand hurt too much to move and my knuckles bled. There were also dozens of figures of her in different costumes, and the life size figure that had been behind the curtain last time was out in full view. She had fainted at the sight of it that night, what would she think now? If we went there now, she would see the full extent of my obsession. Damn! Damn! Damn!

I stopped and turned to her, and she looked at me expectantly. "Christine, maybe I should take you back to your room." It hurt to say it; I wasn't ready to let her go yet…or ever, but I went on, "it's very late, and…"

She looked as crushed as I felt. "But we have the day off from rehearsals and I so want to spend it with you." She studied my face and asked quizzically, "Is something wrong?" Maybe she was too perceptive.

Lying to her was not the way I wanted to start this year, this new life with her, so I took a deep but shaky breath and confessed, "The months without you in my life have taken a toll on my sanity." She stood there, looking so lovely, waiting for me to explain. Was I brave enough to let her see? Did I have enough faith in her that this would not scare her away? I can't recall putting my faith in anyone for so long. But tonight the boy had been brave, and so had she. She had gone out on a limb by kissing me. How did she know I would not throw her from me again? I was so cruel at that moment, but she hadn't shrunk away from me. She also told me that she loved me, something I hadn't been brave enough to tell her. Damn that fool, he was right again, I am the coward!

I would trust her not to think the worst, and I would tell her how much I love her. I wouldn't dwell on the madness that gripped me while I was away from her, and hopefully she would understand this as she had every other dark secret I had revealed to her. I meekly said, "My home…" I faltered slightly, but recovered and went on, "it looks different from the last time you were there."

(CHRISTINE'S POV)

I could only wonder what he meant by that. The last time his home had been glowing with the light of what seemed like hundreds of candles and it had been warm and magical and wonderful, but he had known I would be coming back with him. This time he expected to return alone. Did that mean it would be dark, or cold, or both? It didn't matter at all, I couldn't wait to go back again and redeem myself. Unlike the last time, tonight he seemed to be unsure of himself, and my only plan was to leave him in no doubt of my feelings. I had spent three months wishing for a second chance; my penance had been paid and the time for atonement was here. Hopefully he wanted that as much as I did.

He seemed nervous on the boat ride. I tried to talk about the production we were rehearsing for, and I asked about the opera he had written and presented at the masquerade earlier. He seemed distracted, lost in thoughts of something else, but he wasn't quite as silent this time though so I decided to leave him to his thoughts.

I did turn to look at him as we neared the portcullis, but he was staring into the water. I shifted in my seat, hoping he would notice the movement, but I couldn't catch his eye. When I finally turned back around I understood why he was so nervous.

Though there was not much light, I could see countless drawings and sketches. They were attached to the walls and the fabric covering the mirrors. They were on every chair and table, and they were all of me. I was overwhelmed by the sight of them, there were so many. As I scanned the room trying to take it all in, my eyes fell on the massive pipe organ and I couldn't stifle a slight gasp of surprise. The life size mannequin that looks like me was next to the organ and my name had been carved into the stone wall behind it in huge letters. Where the sheet music would normally sit there were more drawings of me. The few candles that were burning lent the scene an eerie quality, and I could sense the sadness that had thrived here. I was speechless. Slowly it occurred to me that he hadn't wanted me to see this for fear of my response. What had he said? …the months had taken a toll on his sanity. Did he fear I would think him insane? I could feel his eyes on me now, looking for my reaction.

The truth of it was that I was flattered. I was touched that he wanted my image all around. He was a wonderful artist too, not that I was at all surprised by that. It was a bit obsessive, but how could I judge? I had an outlet for my misery. I dealt with my grief and frustration and doubt by talking to Meg. Who did he have to confide in? Maybe if I could draw as well as he could I would have sketches of him covering my walls as well.

I turned back to him, his head was down and his body was tense. I wanted to go to him so that he would look at me, but was afraid to even stand while still in the boat. But I needed to say something to put him at ease, to let him know I still thought him quite sane. "It looks like you missed me almost as much as I missed you."

His head snapped up. His lips parted and I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. I knew now this was a sign that I affected him as much as he affected me. The boat came to rest on the shore and his warm gaze lingered on me for an instant before he jumped out, as graceful as ever, and held out a hand for me. Once I felt my feet touch solid ground I leapt into his arms.

He held me tightly for several minutes, but when I couldn't hold back a shiver any longer, he released me and took off his cloak to wrap around my shoulders. He led me to a chair and very gently removed the stack of drawings from it, holding them as if they were the most precious things he owned, and then gestured for me to sit. "Let me get the fire going, I will be back in a moment." He said, then bent down and lightly kissed the tip of my nose. His warm lips felt so good against my cold skin.

On the table next to me were more drawings, and when I picked them up to get a better look I saw the small replica of the stage. The last time I had seen it there had been a small figure of me from that evening's performance. Now the little stage had flames all around it and a small figure of me wearing a different costume. It didn't look familiar at all. Maybe this was from the opera he had written, I would have to remember to ask.

I looked around to see where he had gone. I didn't remember seeing a fireplace the last time I was here. Was it even possible to have a fire this far underground? I shivered again and gathered the cloak tightly around my shoulders. It smelled like him, that wonderful scent I couldn't place. This wasn't even his cloak; it was the one from the costume department. He had only worn it briefly and yet it smelled of him already. Maybe I would just keep it; surely no one would miss it and the thought of having his scent wrapped around me anytime I wanted made me smile.

When he returned he went to the boat and retrieved the champagne and glasses before coming back and taking my hand. He no longer wore the red costume, I would really miss that, but he looked just as impressive in black. He had changed his mask as well. The smooth porcelain one was back, covering only half of his face. The black had been removed from around his eyes, but they hadn't lost any of that smoldering quality. God, he was so beautiful.

He led me to a room I hadn't seen before. It was a small room, but there was a large fireplace dominating the far wall. There were a few more drawings of me in this room too, and more of the small figures. They were each dressed in a different costume, but these I recognized from various performances. In front of the fire were a few thick blankets and many large pillows. There was only one chair in the room and it was pushed off to the side with two of the large pillows propped up against the legs. Off to the other side was a low table with bread and cheese and a bowl of fruit. It was lovely, and the heat of the fire felt very good.

He was still holding my hand as he walked over to the blankets. "Sit, my darling, have something to eat." I couldn't help smiling at the endearment. It was the first time he had called me that, and I liked it very much. He bent slightly to keep hold of my hand as I sat, and I realized his loose shirt was open at the neck. Not only had he taken off the striking red suit, but no he no longer wore a waistcoat or fitted jacket. I stared, unladylike, at the base of his throat.

The blankets were so thick and comfortable, and the fire warmed me immediately. Hesitantly I removed the cloak that smelled like him and placed it close by. He sat down beside me and poured two glasses of champagne. He looked for a moment like he was going to make a toast, but then he put his glass back down and looked at me. His glorious eyes were too penetrating; I held the gaze for a moment, but soon had to look away. "I did miss you very much," he said softly, seemingly in response to my earlier comment. "Not seeing you everyday, in the way I have I grown so accustomed to," his voice was barely a whisper, "was nothing short of torture…and I speak from experience."

I was surprised by the surge of anguish I felt at hearing him talk about that. I couldn't bear to imagine someone hurting him. But before I could dwell on this unhappy thought, he continued. "I would draw your image, sometimes singing to you, and sometimes just talking like we used to." He was looking into the fire as he spoke, and I could only see the side of his face without the mask. It was strange to look at him and not see it. As if he could read my thoughts he turned to me. "I love you very much Christine."

My heart was fluttering wildly, and I felt breathless. I had guessed as much, but hearing him say it, and with that miraculous voice…I felt his thumb on my cheek almost before I felt the tears. "You, my love, are the most magnificent creature," he whispered, gently kissing my other cheek. He moved his lips closer to my ear and started to sing very softly…"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime… Lead me save me from my solitude; say you'll want me with you here beside you, anywhere you go let me go too, Christine that's all I ask of you."_ It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard, there was such love in his voice, and so much longing.

I happily returned the sentiment by singing my reply, _"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime… Say the word and I will follow you…share each day with me, each night each morning…"_ as I sang he leaned in until finally his lips were on mine. I felt like I would explode with happiness, then to make it even more exquisite he pulled away a tiny bit and whispered "stay with me, forever." He didn't wait for a response before finding my lips again.

I placed my palm on his cheek and drew him even closer to me. The kiss was so intense that it took only seconds before I needed to catch my breath. I pulled back and took a shallow breath then began trailing light kisses from the faint scar on his lip across his jaw at the edge of the mask. I was very careful not to touch it, for fear it would come loose. When I reached where the mask ended I kissed him with a little more pressure, just below the ear. His thumb was still on my cheek, and I felt his hand slide to my neck and into my hair. I lightly kissed his earlobe and whispered, "yes."


	5. Chapter 5

(A/N: this paragraph should have been at the end of the previous chapter. Sorry for the confusion.)

He moaned softly then pulled away and rested his forehead against mine. As my breathing began to even out I realized this was pretty much a proposal, and it was more romantic than I ever could have dreamed. I closed my eyes and relived the last few minutes, committing them forever to my memory. "Is there anything you don't do well?" I asked, still a bit breathless. I wasn't the only one, his breathing was still shallow, and his eyes were hazy and dark, and very sensual.

(ERIK'S POV)

I knew now that I would never stop being astounded by her. She didn't see the madness in my soul, my dark and detestable nature. She could look at the proof, this fanatical display of my break from reality, and not be scared. It is what I had hoped for, but were my wishes and the thunder of my heartbeat causing me to misinterpret?

That question was answered the moment I helped her from the boat. She leapt into my arms, and luckily I was too shocked to do anything but catch her. That wasn't the usual fate of someone who leapt at me, but it seemed I would have to get used to her coming at me unexpectedly. I held her closely, twirling my fingers in her thick, silky curls. I had wanted to touch her beautiful hair since she was a small child. It would have been like a gift from above just to touch it once. I had wondered what it would feel like for so long, and now she was here in my arms and I felt I could play with these curls for hours.

I stopped at the feel of her shiver and removed the cloak I was wearing, wrapping it tightly around her. I had to get the fire going, and maybe some food, she must be very hungry. I left her for a few minutes while I saw to the fire and the food. I decided to change as well, smiling as I removed the costume. She liked it; I had seen it on her face. Her eyes had swept over me in a way I hadn't ever expected. I remembered that look, and was staggered now to realize that it was desire. I couldn't place it then because I had never seen it before, but I am sure of it now. There was a strange heat on my face, I touched my cheek and it was warm. I stepped over to the small mirror I used to check my mask and was awed to see that I was blushing. This is definitely a night of firsts. What has she done to me?

Before I went to get her I had a chat with myself, sort of going over a mental checklist. I wanted the rest of this night to be perfect. Explain the drawings, she had to be wondering. Tell her you love her. Eat something, and try to make her do the same. Don't hurt her if she comes at you without warning. Don't even think about that you disgusting letch. Okay, enough of this, see what happens when you let your thoughts wander?

I brought her in to sit by the fire, and I sat next to her, but not too close. I tried to explain about the sketches, about my need to see her everyday, and I told her how much I love her. I could have expanded on that thought for days, but my voice was becoming too thick with the amount of emotion in it. Without realizing it, I started to sing softly in her ear. It wasn't the seductive tone I know she liked; my voice wasn't up to it right now, but more of a plea. She owned me now, gave my life purpose, and I was no longer capable of living without her. In a few hours she had changed everything. I wouldn't break my promise to her or the boy, but I couldn't exist without her. I tried to convey as much of that as I could. I wanted her here forever, and I said as much.

She answered me in song as well. Her voice was the reason for all of this; I had fallen in love with that first. I had created music just for her to sing, and now she was promising herself to me with that voice I could never hear enough of. I couldn't stop myself from kissing her. She pulled me even closer and every cell in my body wanted her in that moment. Thankfully she broke away before I could do something sinful, but immediately she starting kissing me along the bottom edge of my mask, starting with the scar on my lip. The sensation was unparalleled, and for the first time in my entire life I wished the mask was not there. I loved the feel of her lips on my scar. She had kissed it twice now and I wondered what it would feel like if she kissed the scars under the mask. Something must be seriously wrong for me to contemplate that, truly another brief break from reality. And just when I felt I could restrain myself no longer she softly touched my ear and whispered, "Yes."

I couldn't stop the small moan of pleasure, and I had to pull away. I rested my forehead against hers and tried to steady my heart. Her lips on my face and her breath in my ear had proved too much for me in this emotional state. As my heartbeat slowed and I could breathe a little easier realization washed over me like a warm summer rain, she wanted to be here with me forever. That is what I had said, right? It wasn't really a question, but she had answered in that one perfect word.

"Is there anything you don't do well?" she asked in a playful, but breathless tone. Oh my God, every second with her was an adventure from my life. My mind was in complete chaos, so many thoughts just bumping into one another, leaving nothing coherent. I had no idea what to do or say, I just looked at her in sheer wonder.

"Right now, I couldn't do anything well." I said truthfully. I hadn't wanted to speak at all, but she seemed to be awaiting a response.

"I doubt that very much indeed." She said seriously.

Who was this incredible person? She was continually staggering me with everything she said and everything she did. Her faith in me was boundless, and I couldn't think of a person who deserved it less. Now, though, I would do everything in my power to never let her down again.

"Tell me about the new opera you've written." She said, leaning towards the table and pulling a few grapes from their vine, completely unaware of how overwhelmed I was by her.

What would she think of me when she read it? I could say with pride, but not conceit, that it was a very good opera. But it was a story about us, a passionate story about us. It was a tale of deceit and seduction. I had written it during my darkest time, when I had thought my burning love and passion for her were unrequited, a time when I had convinced myself to let her go. I had been a spineless idiot. She was clever enough to see the truth in it. What good would it do to deny her? Those two buffoons had a copy of it now anyways. And after what I had said last night, they would probably start rehearsing it very soon.

I decided it would be easier to let her read it than for me to have to retell it. I was ever the spineless idiot. I rose, unsure, to go retrieve it, and returned equally as unsure. As I sat again, I noticed she was holding one of my drawings. I leaned back onto the pillows that were resting against the chair, and placed the opera folder onto the seat, happy she was distracted at the moment. She was studying the picture, her brow creased. "Is something wrong, my love?" It was a sketch I liked very much, but she did not appear to. It was of the two of us, but I had drawn my face without the mask, and without the scars, a mirror image of the normal side.

"One of the many things you do well," she smiled, holding up the picture, "but this isn't one of my favorites, this isn't really you." There was nothing hurtful in her tone. "I prefer the real version." She moved closer to me and I felt the now familiar change in my breathing. She must have noticed it too, because she ran her thumb across my bottom lip. I ached for her to kiss me again, kiss the scar on my lip. She didn't, but she did move her thumb over it a few times. She was very cautious around my mask, and I had to fight off the painful image of what I had done last time.

"You don't need to hide from me," she whispered, at last softly kissing the scar. A slight gasp of surprise slipped out before I could stop it. "Please don't be nervous, I would never do that again." That wasn't why I had gasped, but I actually don't think I would mind if she did it again. It would be embarrassing, but I believed her when she said earlier that she feared only my anger, not my disfigurement. Nothing she had ever said or done implied that she was disgusted by it, as impossible as that seems. That had been my mistake, my misinterpretation.

I reached around her waist and pulled her onto my lap. Her face was level with mine now and I kissed her lightly on the lips, then closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "You may remove it, if you wish," I whispered, eyes still closed. My heart was pounding, and my throat was very dry. It was a moment of truth, and it was terrifying. I wasn't sure what she would do. I felt her moving closer and her lips found the scar again. I inhaled softly, cursing mentally to myself for giving away my anxiety. She was so gentle that I didn't even feel her remove it, but I could feel her warm breath on my cheek, then she softly kissed the scars there. It was heaven; tiny shivers ran down my spine. I could feel the sting behind my eyes, but there was nothing I could do about it, any moment now the tears would fall. Soft, feather light kisses made there way up my face, and when she kissed my eyelid, the tears came. "Christine," it was a throbbing whisper, "Do you have any idea how deeply I love you?"

She continued with the trail of kisses over the deformity until she came back to the one on my lip, I almost cried out when she stopped. But then she placed her palm over the marred flesh and lightly rubbed the tears away with her thumb. "Yes." And then she kissed me, a lot less gently. Her skin was so warm and soft on the places so used to cold, unyielding porcelain. I wanted to look at her, but I wanted this kiss with her even more.

When she broke away from the kiss I pulled her into a tight embrace. Her head was on my shoulder and those amazingly soft curls were on my face. After these incredible sensations it would be difficult to put the mask back on. I wanted her so close to me, but maybe I still wasn't ready to see the expression on her face.

She turned her head without lifting it from my shoulder and I felt her lips on my neck. The tiny shivers were back, and so were the tears. She was kissing me again, under my jaw then up by my ear. Her other hand went to my cheek, the normal one, and as she rubbed the tears away on one side, she kissed them away on the other. I never, ever wanted to move from this spot. This is truly the most blissful moment of my life. Suddenly I needed to see her face, and when I opened my eyes I was not disappointed. Her eyes were sparkling and she whispered, "My angel… my love. You are true beauty," she paused and kissed my favorite scar. "And I so adore you," she finished. I was beyond breathless.

Nobody had ever been able to look at my face without some horrific reaction, and even my own mother hadn't been able to look upon my face with love. Yet her she was, looking at me in the same way that stopped me in my tracks at the masquerade. She loved me, and she wanted me as much as I wanted her, and the thought made me very happy, amongst other things.

"I love to see you smile," she said, nestling her head into my chest. It's hard to believe I've lived my whole life without intimacy until tonight. "Erik," she started, and then paused. The pause continued for an unnatural length of time, and I was wondering if I should say something. She could say anything to me…did she know that? Should I tell her that? I heard her sigh deeply, but then she said in the most achingly soft voice, "this is what it should have been like that night, if I hadn't… ruined it."

I wasn't sure if she was right about that. It had been wonderful then, and I was unsure what would have happened if she hadn't taken off my mask. Certainly I wouldn't have pushed her, or called her those awful things. But my love for her then was dark and obsessive. I could admit that now, after what we had shared tonight. I have changed, or rather; she has changed me as I thought earlier. I had been planning to seduce her that night, and I probably would have if things had gone differently. And without any doubt at all I knew I would have killed that boy the next time I saw him try to touch her.

If she had kissed me that night I think I would have almost expected it. I probably would have smiled at my own brilliant plan. Well, maybe not smiled. And though it would be nice to not have either memory of my vicious words to her, the memory of that first kiss will forever remain unequaled. I was confident that was the boldest thing she had ever done. She had to have been thinking I could hurt her again, and she had kissed me anyways, kissed my scar, and changed my life. Without that extraordinary event this peace I felt with her, and this love I feel for her might not be possible.

"But maybe this is even better because of what happened then. Everything worth having comes at a price." I felt her lips on my cheek again, and I was glad I hadn't gone into detail about my thoughts that night. But how could she want those lovely lips touching something as hideous and maimed as my face? Could she be sure about committing herself to a lifetime of this? "Arrrgh, the doubt was back. This had to be the result of all the years of harboring such rage, and so many dark secrets. "Are you sure, Christine?" It slipped out, barely a whisper.

She sat upright and looked at me, a clear sign she had heard me. "Sure of what?" she said, and quickly placed her finger over my lips as she had done earlier. I guess her question was rhetorical. "Sure that I want to be here with the person who has given me everything?" she lightly kissed my cheek. "Yes… Sure I made the right choice tonight?" She kissed my jaw. "Yes… Sure that I can love you?" she kissed the hollow at the base of my throat. "Mmmm," I murmured huskily. "Yes…Sure I want this forever?" she kissed the top of my chest. "Yes." Her nose was softly nuzzling the hair on my chest as she kissed me. I couldn't breathe! "Do I seem unsure?" she asked, removing her finger from my lips and running her hand down my front and around my waist.

I didn't trust myself to speak. I could barely think. I hoped that question was rhetorical as well. "Sure you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen?" Slowly her hand moved back up my chest, causing me to quiver with delight. She continued, softly caressing my neck, I inhaled sharply. The sensation was rapturous. Finally her hand came to rest on my cheek, her thumb running over the scar I had come to love so much. She kissed it lightly, "Yes." She had to stop before I lost all control. But I really didn't want her to stop.

"You are not these scars, my love, and they are not you." She looked so beautiful, and she had successfully banished every shred of doubt from my mind. There was no room for anything but desire there now. It burned through every inch of me. She kissed me again, an urgent, passionate kiss. Stop! I had to stop now. I felt my arms wrap around her tiny frame. Stop! I groaned, at the very edge of my endurance. Thank God she pulled away just then to breath. I had seriously underestimated my self control in her presence. But she continued her relentless assault but running her tongue over my lip.

"Christine…" it was a guttural sound, hardly a word at all. I was incapable of further speech and I had to pull away. This was the moment I had spent hours thinking about, the moment I had written about, the point of no return.


	6. Chapter 6

There was no mistaking the pride in his eyes when I asked him about the new opera he had written. I wondered if any part of our story factored into it. I couldn't wait to read it, but that would make it even better. As he left to go get it, I reached for more grapes and noticed a stack of drawings on the floor. The one on top was of the two of us; he really was a talented artist. I reached for it, realizing at once that something wasn't quite right. It looked so strange because he wasn't wearing a mask; he had drawn the right side of his face to match the left. I could understand why he thought about it, but I didn't like this picture very much. I had seen the scars and I wouldn't wish him any different. Without them we wouldn't be here now, he wouldn't be in my life at all. It was a selfish thought, but he is my destiny and I am his. He didn't see that, the years of torment and solitude and whatever else he had lived through had taken more of a toll on his sanity than three months of separation from me. He was so full of self loathing and doubt that it would be difficult to overcome. But I would try. I would more than try. He would never have to doubt either me or my intentions again.

He noticed right away that I didn't like it, and I told him why. I moved closer to him and his breathing quickened. I love that I have this effect on him. To be fair, he had quite an effect on me too, I couldn't stop with the scar on his lip, I wasn't able to leave it alone. It drove me crazy and I couldn't stay away from it, luckily he didn't mind. I told him he didn't need to hide from me, and maybe one day he wouldn't. I would wait patiently. I told him I wouldn't betray him like that again, and I longed for him to trust me. Maybe he was starting to, the last few times I had touched his mask he hadn't flinched or pulled away, that was a start at least.

Without warning he pulled me onto his lap. I loved to feel his arms around me. But then, my jaw actually dropped, he was giving me permission to remove the mask. I wanted to, but should I? Was this some kind of test? What if I took it off and he reacted the same way as last time? I wouldn't be afraid of his anger again, but we would be back at the beginning then, and I would rather not start over. What if he did want me to and I didn't? Would he think the sight of him without it repulsed me? This powerful man, this beautiful creature was afraid of that. This was something he couldn't change, and it had come between us for years. I could tell that his heart was pounding, he was very nervous, but was it because he thought I would, or wouldn't?

I didn't know what to do, so I did the safe thing, I kissed the scar. He inhaled softly and his lips parted, giving me the sign I had been hoping for. I removed it as gently as I could, not wanting it to be a shock. The skin beneath it was red and distended. I wasn't sure if it was sensitive, but I wanted to kiss him there, to show him I wasn't offended by it. This would never come between us again. When my lips reached his eyelid, tears rolled down his face, but it was obvious I wasn't hurting him. It was our most tender moment to date, and he couldn't hide the fact that he thought so too.

It was wonderful to sit here with him like this. The last time he was unmasked in front of me he held his hand over his face. This is what I should have done then, but what had happened could not be changed and now he wasn't trying to hide and it was perfect, until he asked if I was sure. How could he still doubt that? I took a steadying breath, it wasn't me, it was his nature to doubt. It was habit for him to question everything, and I certainly couldn't blame him for that. A lot of these feelings were new to me as well, but I had always expected to have them someday. I had never lived through thinking I wasn't worthy of them. My initial reaction to his query had been anger, but that was the easy road. My earlier conviction of wanting to leave him doubtless returned with force. I would tell him and show him that I loved him, that nothing could keep me away from him. I kissed him everywhere that I could see skin. His shirt had loosened at some point, and unashamedly I trailed kisses to his chest, telling him all the while how sure I was of him, of us, of everything. He was my life; he had been for more than ten years, why couldn't he see that? His was the voice in every one of my dreams, and after this night it wouldn't be only his voice.

In my zeal to prove how sure I was of a life with him, I may have overstepped a boundary or two. The wonderful scent of him, the firmness of his body, the incredible softness of the hair on his chest combined with the fact that he was completely oblivious to how beautiful he really was led me to behave in a most unrefined way. I didn't care about propriety anymore, I wanted him. I wanted to spend the remainder of this night and every night in his arms. I could feel how red my face was and I didn't care. What I did care about was that he wanted that too, and he did. I could feel the struggle he was having with himself, and I was fully aware that I wasn't playing fair when I ran my tongue over his lip.

"Christine…" the way he said it made everything melt inside. But instead of moving closer he pulled away. I know he wants this, there is no mistaking it. He loosened the embrace and guided my head to lie on his chest. His heart was beating wildly and his breathing was erratic. For several minutes he was silent, trying to get his heartbeat and everything else under control, I guessed. My feelings were a bit wounded, but I knew if I implied this in any way he would begin to doubt again. I waited for him to speak for fear I wouldn't be able to hide the disappointment I felt.

At long last he spoke. "Forgive me, my love." His voice wasn't fully recovered, and I was happy to hear that the rich, seductive quality was still there. "It seems my passion for you overrules every other sense." He was apologizing? The only thing he had done wrong was to stop. I was torn, if I continued to lie here, without looking at him he might think either I no longer wanted to see his face, or that I was unsure of him in some way. If I did lift my head and meet his gaze he might see what I was really thinking. But I decided on the latter.

Unbelievably, he was mad at himself. Actually, I was a little mad at him too, but I worked very hard on my expression to not let that show. "We should wait," the trace of huskiness was back in his voice, "until after…" Something in my face must have changed because he had that anguished look again. "Please, Christine…" His stormy eyes softened suddenly. "Let me do one thing right by you." It sounded as if he had been about to say after we are married. Was he thinking of an actual wedding then? He was anything but conventional, but maybe in this he was. How could I argue with that?

The mannequin had been wearing a wedding dress. Maybe that had been his intent all along. The thought brought with it a surge of joy. I would have stayed here with him, as his bride, whether it was legal in the eyes of the law, or God; I belonged to him, and I always had. But if he wanted us to be bound in the customary way then we would have to go to a church. I couldn't imagine being with him outside of the opera house, not that I was in any way ashamed, but I didn't think he ever left here. Maybe it would have to be at night. His song to me then had been about nighttime and darkness, _purge your thoughts of the life you knew before…let your darker side give in, in this darkness you know you cannot fight..._ it really didn't matter, night or day. His lip twitched the tiniest bit, and the urge to touch it was painful in its intensity, but I didn't.

I smiled weakly, and very innocently kissed one of the raised, malformed patches on his cheek. I could wait, it was important to him. It was a small price to pay, and I would do anything for him. "It doesn't disgust you, kissing such skin?" He asked shyly, but he didn't have that downcast, doubtful tone. Could it be that he finally just accepted it, and understood that I accepted it as well?

"No, it doesn't. I could happily kiss all of your scars." Whatever he expected me to say, it was not this. He was surprised, but why?

He lowered his gaze, and looked ashamed. "I have so many more scars than just those on my face." The downcast tone was back. Were the rest of his scars remainders of the torture he had alluded to earlier?

"Then I'm looking forward to it." The second it slipped out I covered my mouth with both hands. I was too astonished to feel embarrassed for an instant, but very quickly my face felt as hot as the fire, and it was certainly just as red. Oh my Lord! How could I have just said that? He was possibly more shocked than I was, but it was close.

A moment later he laughed. Not a chuckle, but real, rich laughter. It was the first time I heard it from him, and it was infectious. I couldn't help laughing a little myself. "Whatever it is that filters my thoughts and keeps them from becoming unladylike behavior does not seem to work when I'm with you." I said meekly, that had certainly been true enough all night. But that wasn't quite what I had meant when I decided I would leave him in no doubt of my feelings. It seemed my passion for him overruled my other senses as well, but to hear him laugh was wonderful.

"You are ever the temptress, my lovely angel." He smiled, still chuckling, as he sat upright. He was right about that, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beauty of his shape. But now was not the time for that, we would wait, as he wished.

"I believe the term you used was Delilah." It was risky, bringing something up he had said then, but I kept my tone as light and playful as I could.

"A very dangerous temptress indeed, but also a betrayer, treacherous and cunning," He smiled, which really was a breathtaking sight. "You are many, many things, Christine, but not those things," he said, still smiling. There was no anguish, no doubt, no angst. "Forgive me for the things I said, I know you would not betray me." He leaned in to kiss me. It was so nice to see this easy side of him. Little did I know how that would change when I reached for the folder on the chair.

Why did it make him uneasy that I wanted to read this? He wasn't opposed to the thought entirely, he had gone to get it. And he was proud of it, I had seen that. Maybe some of our story did factor into it, but what part? He had written it during a time he had described as nothing short of torture, a time when he was convinced I would be better off without him. I was very curious, but since that night curiosity was always accompanied by caution.


	7. Chapter 7

Knowing that she did not want me to stop actually made it easier to. It was starting to sink in, she could accept this face, this dark dungeon, and she could accept me. Truly it was inconceivable, beyond all possibility, and yet look at her…her love and desire for me were obvious. She will still be here tomorrow, and the next day, she won't leave me. We could do this the proper way. I am certainly not a religious man, but her father would have insisted on this, the boy would have done this and I will do this. Whether I believed in Him or not, mostly not, since for as long as I can remember I have blamed him for the hideous sight of me, every dream and every prayer I have ever uttered has come true in this night. Even I wouldn't tempt that fate.

She very sweetly kissed my cheek. It didn't disgust her. I could hardly even look at it; I hadn't really accepted it myself. But she seemed completely unaffected by it. My thoughts came out in the form of a question I hadn't even meant to ask, I knew the answer already.

But all of my scars? She had no idea about the marks on the rest of my body. I had done terrible things, as I told her, but terrible things had been done to me as well. How would she react to the sight of them? Pity was one thing I never wanted to see on her face, I could bear anything but that. When that glorious time came, when I could finally surrender to this overwhelming passion and need for her, she would be perfection, but she would not have that in return, only more ugliness and horror.

I was ashamed to tell her, but better to tell her now than risk her seeing them without warning. She had come very close to seeing a few of them already. I couldn't look at her, afraid to see the pity, but I told her, "I have so many more scars than just those on my face."

Her response to that was the most unexpected thing ever to cross her lips. "Then I'm looking forward to it." I could only stare at her, completely dumbfounded. Clearly she hadn't meant to say it, but she had thought it. That brought a blush to my face, but it was nothing compared to hers. I would never be able to get enough of her. For so many years I had thought her timid, helpless, and even submissive to a point. I had always found her talent and her beauty remarkable, and I had known she was playful and good natured, but that was nothing compared to what I had seen tonight. She had been so much more than I thought possible. She was brave and funny and tender and strong, and she was passionate beyond belief. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind and I had been unable to intimidate her, and I can intimidate anyone when I try, but she had stood her ground. I have been in a state of awe since she stopped me at the masquerade, and it just keeps getting more profound. She is amazing…truly amazing.

I laughed loudly, unable to contain my feelings of wonder. I laughed because somehow this superior creature wanted me. I laughed at her shock and deep embarrassment, and the dark, beautiful blush. I laughed at the joy that filled me knowing we would spend our lives together. And I laughed at my own ineptitude when it came to her. When was the last time I laughed without malice or ridicule? Possibly never, but that is what this fantastic girl does to me. She is a very dangerous temptress indeed, in every possible sense of the word. And she is mine!

She reached for the folder containing my opera, effectively wiping the smile from my face. I had hoped she would forget about it, but again I realized that wouldn't matter, those idiot managers had it anyways. It would be hard to watch her read it, she would see how disturbed I could be, and what I had really thought of during the nightmare that had been these past three months. But I had learned that stopping her was most likely out of the question, and I couldn't help but adore her enthusiasm.

"Sweet Angel, it's very late. Maybe you should try and get some sleep." It was a half hearted attempt to manipulate the situation, not up to my usual standard, but I had to try.

She looked at me and smiled, the folder in her hand. "This is the first day of the rest of our forever and I don't want to spend it sleeping." I was taken aback by the beauty in her words. She leaned in to kiss me, and some of the passion from a few minutes ago was back in her kiss. That certainly wasn't going to help the situation once she began to read.

I couldn't sit still as she began; I was nervous, unsure of her reaction, but sure it would be something I didn't expect. I noticed when I glanced at her from time to time that she was bobbing her head rhythmically and mouthing some of the words, testing the tempo of the songs. I wasn't worried what she would think of the music, it really was some of my best work, even brilliant at times, but the meaning in the words was another story.

Without realizing it, I stood and started to pace. She was very clever, and her mind wasn't as innocent as I once had thought. She would see how hurt I had been and how that had turned into something full of anger and passion, but devoid of romance and love.

She was more than half way through, and at times her eyebrow would lift in question or surprise, but she was silent. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but we would see when she came to the finale. Now the thought of her singing those words to someone else made me almost seethe with anger. I only wanted her to sing them to me. Maybe somewhere deep in the shadowy parts of my mind I had always intended that. I had noted my ideas for the choreography as well, but there was no way in hell I was going to let someone else touch her like that.

Some of the words starting coming to mind, unbidden, as if to prove a point. _In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. _Who was I kidding? I'm the one who has succumbed to her. I hadn't been able to steer her into the arms of the Viscount, thank God. I didn't kill the boy, for her, even though I had wanted to. I stand here without my mask, a thought previously not even worthy of consideration. And I was afraid that if I embraced her again I wouldn't be able to honor her or her father by waiting. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her, this girl is my salvation.

When I turned to pace in her direction I noticed that she was now standing too. "The music is so beautiful. I can't wait to hear it played by the orchestra." My anticipation for that was high as well, but that wasn't my concern at the moment. She took a step towards me, I couldn't gauge her expression. "And this maiden…Aminta," she came further still. Was she angry? "She is me?" She asked, waving the pages in her hand. I took a small step back to allow her more room, and to give myself a moment to compose my thoughts. I wasn't surprised; I had always given her credit for being bright enough to see that.

"She is…loosely based on you." I said, sheepishly. It wasn't really a lie, the way I thought of her now was not the same way I had thought of her then. I had been jealous and obsessive, mistaking that love for true love. There was a small crease between her brows, and as charming a sight as that was to behold, it reminded me of her expression when she had been looking at the drawing of the two of us. She hadn't liked that either. I think she is angry, or maybe disappointed, I still couldn't read her expression.

"And the title character, Don Juan…" She came a tiny bit closer, handing a page to me as she did. Her voice was level, but the crease in her brow had deepened and I was sure she wasn't coming to kiss or embrace me. I moved back, allowing myself space to see the page in question. I sensed the wall at my back now; further retreat was no longer an option. "He is planning to seduce this innocent, young thing by tricking her?" she asked, the eyebrow had risen again. Maybe she wanted to slap me, I definitely deserved it.

There was no way out of it. I had known this was coming, "Yes." It was a whisper, as if that could take away some of the conviction I had felt while writing it. As I said it I watched her closely for any hint of a reaction. She was a very good actress, giving nothing away. I would give anything to know what she is thinking. Would her opinion of me change because of this? I didn't think so after these past few hours, but maybe I had misjudged how offended she would be.

"And he is loosely based on…Raoul?" I clenched my teeth, hard, not wanting to say something I would regret. I turned away so she wouldn't see me struggling with that thought. The idea of her, with him like that, saying those things… "Or is he based on you?" She asked, and there was humor in her voice. Sure enough, when I turned back her eyes were very bright and she was smiling, a gorgeous, impish smile. She had been teasing me all along. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding as relief engulfed me.

"Why so nervous? Did you think I would be angry?" she placed her palm on my cheek and ran her thumb over the scar on my lip. I nodded, content to just look at her. "I'm flattered that you think I'm worth seducing, but I assure you, the tricks aren't necessary." She smiled playfully, but then said seriously, "I am touched that you wrote this while thinking of me."

"You alone can make my song take flight, Christine." I pulled her into my arms and held her as close to me as I could. She kissed my cheek and whispered, "It's wonderful." Then she kissed my chin. "I love it." Next she kissed my scar, "you are amazing." At last she kissed me, and I returned her kiss, holding nothing back, allowing my deepest feelings to come forward. For the first time ever, I could relax my guard without any fear of rejection; my trust in her was unwavering, and my love for her was absolute.

She pulled away, and said breathlessly, beautifully, "If you continue to kiss me like that I might insist we elope as soon as the sun comes up." Oh, my fearless Christine, will my wonder for you ever cease?

The End

_Thank You very much to everyone who reviewed and set alerts for the story._


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